A BILL OF DIVORCEMENT
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
_NOVELS_:
_REGIMENT OF WOMEN_
_FIRST THE BLADE_
_LEGEND_
_LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN_
A BILL OF
DIVORCEMENT
A PLAY IN THREE ACTS
BY
CLEMENCE DANE
[Illustration: colophon 1921]
LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
_Copyright: London, William Heinemann, 1921._
This play was produced on Monday, March 14th, 1921, at the St. Martin’s
Theatre, with the following cast:
MARGARET FAIRFIELD MISS LILIAN BRAITHWAITE
MISS HESTER FAIRFIELD MISS AGNES THOMAS
SYDNEY FAIRFIELD MISS MEGGIE ALBANESI
BASSETT MISS DOROTHY MARTIN
GRAY MEREDITH MR. C. AUBREY SMITH
KIT PUMPHREY MR. IAN HUNTER
HILARY FAIRFIELD MR. MALCOLM KEEN
DR. ALLIOT MR. STANLEY LATHBURY
THE REV. CHRISTOPHER PUMPHREY MR. FEWLASS LLEWELLYN
THE PEOPLE OF THE PLAY
_In the order of their appearance._
MARGARET FAIRFIELD.
MISS HESTER FAIRFIELD.
SYDNEY FAIRFIELD.
BASSETT.
GRAY MEREDITH.
KIT PUMPHREY.
HILARY FAIRFIELD.
DR. ALLIOT.
THE CHRISTOPHER.
SCENE.--_A small house in the country. The action passes on
Christmas Day, 1933. The audience is asked to imagine that the
recommendations of the_ Majority Report of the Royal Commission on
Divorce _v._ Matrimonial Causes _have become the law of the land_.
ACT I.--THE HALL. MORNING.
ACT II.--THE DRAWING ROOM. EARLY AFTERNOON.
ACT III.--THE HALL. LATE AFTERNOON.
ACT I.
_The curtain rises on the hall, obviously used as the common-room
of a country house. On the right (of the audience) is the outer
door and a staircase that runs down from an upper landing towards
the middle of the room, half hiding what has once been a separate
smaller room with a baize door at the back. In the corner a French
window opens on to a snowbound garden. On the left, facing the
entrance, a log fire is blazing. Staircase, pictures, grandfather
clock, etc., are wreathed with holly and mistletoe. At the
breakfast table, which is laid for three and littered with paper
and string, sit_ MISS HESTER FAIRFIELD _and_ MARGARET FAIRFIELD,
_her niece by marriage. The third chair has two or three parcels
piled up on it._
HESTER FAIRFIELD _is one of those twitching, high-minded, elderly
ladies in black, who keep a grievance as they might keep a pet
dog--as soon as it dies they replace it by another. The grievance
of the moment seems to be the empty third chair, and_ MARGARET
FAIRFIELD _is, as usual, on the defensive. Such a little, pretty,
helpless-looking woman as_ MARGARET _has generally half a dozen big
sons and a husband to bully; but_ MARGARET _has only a daughter,
and her way of looking at even the chair on which that daughter
ought to be sitting, is the way of a child whose doll has suddenly
come to life. For the rest, she is so youthfully anxious and simple
and charming that the streak of grey in her hair puzzles you. You
wonder what trouble has fingered it. It does not occur to you that
she is quite thirty-five._
MARGARET. [_Apologising_] Yes, she is late.
MISS FAIRFIELD. As usual!
MARGARET. Oh, well, she was dancing till three. I hadn’t the heart to
wake her.
MISS FAIRFIELD. Till three, was she? Who brought her home?
MARGARET. Kit, of course.
MISS FAIRFIELD. Three o’clock on Christmas morning! I wonder what the
Rector said to that.
MARGARET. Oh, Kit’s on holiday.
MISS FAIRFIELD. I heard you tell her myself to be in by twelve. If
anything could make me approve of this marriage of yours--
MARGARET. Oh, don’t begin it again, Auntie!
MISS FAIRFIELD.--it’s that the child will have a strong hand over her at
last. A step-father’s better than nothing--if you can call him a
step-father when her father’s still alive.
MARGARET. Oh, don’t!
MISS FAIRFIELD. What’s the use of saying “don’t”? He _is_ alive. You
can’t get away from that.
MARGARET. Aunt Hester--_please_!
MISS FAIRFIELD. Well, I’m only telling you--if it’s got to be, I’m not
sorry it’s Gray Meredith.
MARGARET. [_Smiling_] Yes, Sydney knows just how far she may go with
Gray.
MISS FAIRFIELD. I see nothing to laugh at in that.
MARGARET. It’s so funny to think how circumspect you all are with him.
He’s the one person I’ve always felt perfectly safe with. I’d ask
anything of Gray.
MISS FAIRFIELD. [_Grimly_] You always have, my dear!
MARGARET. I don’t know why you should be unkind to me on Christmas
morning.
MISS FAIRFIELD. [_With a sort of grudging affection_] I suppose it’s
because I’ve only got another week to be unkind to you in.
MARGARET. [_Restlessly_] Oh, I wish you didn’t hate it so.
MISS FAIRFIELD. My dear, when you see a person you care for, and she
your own nephew’s wife, on the brink of deadly sin--
MARGARET. Must we begin it again?
MISS FAIRFIELD. I do my duty. If you’d done yours your daughter wouldn’t
be late for breakfast, and I shouldn’t be given the opportunity.
MARGARET. Perhaps I _had_ better call her.
MISS FAIRFIELD. Everything getting cold--and so disrespectful! She ought
to be taught.
MARGARET. [_Rising with a sigh_] You’re quite right. [_Calling at the
foot of the stairs_] Sydney, darling, shall I bring you up your coffee?
SYDNEY’S VOICE. [_Answering_] It’s all right, Mother! I’m coming.
MISS FAIRFIELD. And I suppose that’s all you’ll say.
SYDNEY _comes out of her room. She is physically a bigger, fairer
edition of_ MARGARET, _but there the likeness ends. Her manner is
brisk and decided. She is very sure of herself, but when she loses
her temper, as she often does, she loses her aplomb and reveals the
schoolgirl. Her attitude to the world is that of justice,
untempered, except where her mother is in question, by mercy. But
she is very fond of her mother._
SYDNEY. [_Running down the stairs_] Merry Christmas, everyone! I’m not
late, am I? Morning, Auntie! What, no post?
MARGARET. It gets later every year.
MISS FAIRFIELD. I’m very much obliged to you, Sydney, for
the--card-case.
SYDNEY. [_Undoing her parcels_] It’s a cigarette case, Auntie dear. You
see, I thought if you gave me a prayer-book again we might do a deal.
Ah, I thought so! Thanks most awfully. It’s sweet of you. Shall we?
MISS FAIRFIELD. What?
SYDNEY. Swop.
MARGARET. Sydney, dear, that’s rather rude.
SYDNEY. [_Swiftly_] Well, Mother, I hate being hinted at.
MARGARET. [_Bewildered_] Hint? What hint?
SYDNEY. Oh, Mother, you’re such a lamb. You never see anything. [_To_
MISS FAIRFIELD] I’m sorry, Auntie, but I’m seventeen, and I’ve left
school, and I am not going to church to-day, or any day any more ever,
except to chaperon Mother and Gray next week, bless ’em!
MISS FAIRFIELD. I do think, Margaret, she ought at least to call him
Uncle.
MARGARET. Aren’t you coming with us to-day, darling? Christmas Day?
SYDNEY. Sorry, Mother. It’s against my principles. I refuse to kneel
down and say I’m a miserable sinner. I’m not miserable and I’m not a
sinner, and I cannot tell a lie to please any old--prayer-book. Besides,
I’m expecting Kit.
MISS FAIRFIELD. You’ll find that Kit takes his mother to church. _She_
hasn’t lost all her influence--
SYDNEY. [_Darkly_] She’ll be finding herself up against me soon.
MARGARET. [_Like a schoolgirl_] Oh, Sydney, has he--?
SYDNEY. He’s trying his hardest to, but I like to sort of _spread_ my
jam.
MARGARET. Then--then--?
SYDNEY. I’m not actually engaged, if you mean that-- [_Watching their
faces mischievously_] but I’m going to be.
MISS FAIRFIELD. Engaged at seventeen! Preposterous!
SYDNEY. [_Instantly_] Mother was married at seventeen.
MARGARET. That was the war.
SYDNEY. I don’t see what that’s got to do with it.
MARGARET. [_Timidly_] Sydney--at seventeen, one doesn’t know enough--
SYDNEY. One doesn’t know the same things, I dare say.
MARGARET. One doesn’t know anything at all.
SYDNEY. Yes, but think of the hopeless sort of world you were seventeen
in--even you. As for poor Auntie, as far as knowing things goes--
MARGARET. Sydney, my dear, be good!
SYDNEY. I am being good. I’m returning hint for hint.
MISS FAIRFIELD. [_Ruffling_] Is this the way you let your daughter speak
to me, Margaret?
SYDNEY. [_Closing with her_] You see, she doesn’t enjoy being hinted at
either.
MARGARET. [_Between the upper and the nether mill-stone_] I don’t know
what you mean, Sydney, but _don’t_!
SYDNEY. I mean that I’m not going to let Aunt Hester interfere in my
affairs like she does in yours. That’s what I mean.
MISS FAIRFIELD. These are the manners they teach you at your fine
school, I suppose!
SYDNEY. Never mind, Auntie, I’ve had my lessons in the holidays too. You
needn’t think I haven’t watched the life you’ve led Mother over this
divorce business.
MARGARET. [_Distressed at the discussion_] Sydney! Sydney!
SYDNEY. [_Remorselessly_] Well, hasn’t she? What prevented you from
marrying Gray ages ago? Father’s been out of his mind long enough, poor
man! You knew you were free to be free. You knew you were making Gray
miserable and yourself miserable--and yet, though that divorce law has
been in force for years, it’s taken you all this time to fight your
scruples. At least, you call them scruples! What you really mean is Aunt
Hester and her prayer book. And now, when you have at last consented to
give yourself a chance of being happy--when it’s Christmas Day and
you’re going to be married at New Year--still you let Aunt Hester sit at
your own breakfast table and insult you with talk about deadly sin. It’s
no use pretending you didn’t Auntie, because Mother left my door open
and I heard you.
MARGARET. [_With a certain dignity_] Sydney, I can take care of myself.
SYDNEY. [_Oblivious of it_] Take care of yourself! As if everybody
didn’t ride rough-shod over you when I’m not there.
MARGARET. Yes, but my pet, you musn’t break out like this. Of course
your aunt knows you don’t really mean to be rude--
SYDNEY. I do mean to be rude to her when she’s rude to you.
MARGARET. My dear, you quite misunderstand your aunt.
SYDNEY. Oh, no, I don’t, Mother! [MARGARET _shrugs her shoulders
helplessly and sits down on the sofa to the left of the fireplace_.]
MISS FAIRFIELD. [_Rising_] I’m afraid you’ll have to go to church
without me, Margaret. I’m thoroughly upset. You’ve brought up your
daughter to ignore me, and I know why. I’m the wrong side of the family.
I’m the one person in this house who remembers poor Hilary. I shall read
the service in the drawing-room. [_She goes out._]
SYDNEY. [_Looking after her_] She owes me something. She’s been dying
for an excuse, with that cold. [_She turns to the sofa and says more
gently_] What’s the use of crying, Mother? If Gray finds out there’ll be
a row, and then Aunt Hester’ll be sorry she ever was born.
MARGARET. It isn’t that. You get so excited, Sydney! You remind me--your
father was so excitable. I don’t like to see it.
SYDNEY. I’m not really. I needn’t let myself go if I don’t want to.
MARGARET. You musn’t get impatient with your aunt. She can’t get
accustomed to the new ways, that’s all. I--I can’t myself, sometimes.
[_Restlessly_] I hope I’m doing right.
SYDNEY. Oh, I do think it’s morbid to have a conscience. If Father had
been dead fifteen years, would you say, “I hope I’m doing right”? And he
_is_ dead. His mind’s dead. You know you’ve done all you can. And you’re
frightfully in love with Gray--
MARGARET. [_Flushing_] Don’t, Sydney!
SYDNEY. Well, you are, and so he is with you. So what’s the worry about?
Aunt Hester! What people like Aunt Hester choose to think! I call it
morbid.
MARGARET. [_Whimsically_] I suppose I haven’t brought you up properly.
Your aunt’s quite right!
SYDNEY. Yes. That’s what it always comes back to. “Your aunt’s quite
right!” I can argue with you by the hour--
MARGARET. [_Hastily_] Oh, not this morning, darling, will you?
SYDNEY.--and Gray can argue with you by the hour--
MARGARET. [_Smiling_] Ah, but he never does.
SYDNEY.--and you pretend to agree with us; but underneath your common
sense, your mind’s really thinking--“Your aunt’s quite right!”
MARGARET. She stands for the old ways, Sydney.
SYDNEY. She stands for Noah and the flood. She’d no business to go
dragging up Father and the divorce on Christmas morning to upset you.
MARGARET. It wasn’t your aunt.
SYDNEY. Then it was me, I suppose! “If I could only control my tongue
and my temper,” and all the rest of it!
MARGARET. [_Quietly_] No, it was about Kit.
SYDNEY. Kit? Oh, that’s all right, Mother. Don’t you worry about me and
Kit.
MARGARET. I do.
SYDNEY. You needn’t.
MARGARET. [_Shyly_] You see, I thought I was in love at seventeen, too.
SYDNEY. Oh, but I quite know what I’m doing.
MARGARET. And now I know I didn’t know much about it. I don’t want you
to be--rushed.
SYDNEY. Nobody could make me do what I didn’t want to do.
MARGARET. [_Forgetting_ SYDNEY] It was nobody’s fault. It was the
war-- [_She sits, dreaming._]
SYDNEY. It’s extraordinary to me--whenever you middle-aged people want
to excuse yourselves for anything you’ve done that you know you oughtn’t
to have done, you say it was the war. How could a war make you get
married if you didn’t want to?
MARGARET. [_Groping for words_] It was the feel in the air. They say the
smell of blood sends horses crazy. That was the feel. One did mad
things. Hilary--your father--he was going out--the trenches--to be hurt.
And he was so fond of me he frightened me. I was so sorry. I thought I
cared. Can’t you understand?
SYDNEY. No. Either you care or you don’t.
MARGARET. [_Passionately_] How can you know until it happens to you? How
was I to know there was more to it than keeping house and looking after
Hilary--and you? How was I to know?
SYDNEY. [_Doubtfully_] Is there so much more to it?
MARGARET. Yes.
SYDNEY. I don’t believe there is for some people. Why it’s just what I
want--to look after Kit and a house of my own, and--oh, at least half a
dozen kids.
MARGARET. [_Uncomfortably_] Sydney, _dear_!
SYDNEY. Oh, Kit’s as keen as I am on eugenics. He’s doing a paper for
his debating society.
MARGARET. Well, I found you quite enough to manage.
SYDNEY. [_Leaning over the back of the sofa_] I believe you were scared
of me when I was little-- [_Margaret nods_] and even now--
MARGARET. [_Quickly_] What?
SYDNEY. [_Quite good humoured about it_] Well, if you had to choose
between me and Gray, it wouldn’t be Gray who’d lose you.
MARGARET. [_Confronted with the idea_] I hope I’d do what’s right.
SYDNEY. [_Airily_] There you are!
MARGARET. [_As it goes home_] It’s not true. You’ve no right to make me
out a heartless mother. But--
SYDNEY. [_Her arm round her mother’s neck_] Well--heartless Mother?
MARGARET. [_Clutching at the arm_] Oh, Sydney--what should I do if
Gray--if Gray--
SYDNEY. It’s all right, Mother! [_There is the sound of a motor driving
up._] There is Gray.
MARGARET. [_Jumping up hurriedly_] Oh, and I’m not dressed. Say I’ll be
down in a minute. [_She runs upstairs._]
SYDNEY. You’ve plenty of time. The bells haven’t begun yet.
MARGARET. [_From the gallery_] Tell Bassett to clear away.
SYDNEY _rings the bell. The elderly maid enters through the baize
door._
BASSETT. Yes, Miss?
SYDNEY. You can clear, Bassett!
_While she is speaking_ GRAY MEREDITH _comes in through the hall
door. He is about forty, tall, dark and quiet, very sure of himself
and quite indifferent to the effect he makes on other people. As he
is a man who never has room in his head for more than one idea at a
time, and as for the last five years that idea has been_ MARGARET,
_the rest of the world doesn’t get much out of him. But mention her
and he behaves exactly like a fire being poked._
GRAY. [_Putting down a box he carries_] Where’s your mother?
SYDNEY. [_Folding her hands_] Good morning, dear Sydney! A merry
Christmas to you, and so many thanks for the tie that, with the help of
your devoted aunt, you so thoughtfully--
GRAY. Stop it, there’s a good child! I haven’t missed her, have I?
SYDNEY. Pray accept in return as a small token of esteem and total
dependency--
GRAY. I asked you if your mother had started.
SYDNEY. [_In her natural voice_] It’s true, you know. You simply daren’t
cope with me yet.
GRAY. [_Twinkling in spite of himself_] Hm! A time will come--
SYDNEY. Wouldn’t it warm the cockles of Aunt Hester’s heart to hear you!
What are cockles, Gray? Gray, she says I ought to call you Uncle! Gray,
d’you think you have brought me what I think you have for a Christmas
present?
GRAY. You’d better go and look. It’s in the motor with Kit.
SYDNEY. It?
GRAY. He.
SYDNEY. By Viscount out of Vixen?
GRAY. Really, Sydney!
SYDNEY. Dear Uncle Hester!
GRAY. Yes, but Sydney--?
SYDNEY. [_At the door_] Oh, didn’t I tell you? Mother says she’ll be
down in a minute. [_She lets in the sound of the church bells as she
goes out._]
GRAY _walks about the room, then, going to the foot of the
staircase, he calls softly_.
GRAY. Margaret! [_He waits a moment; then he calls again_] Margaret!
_He listens, takes another turn about the room, then, coming back
to the staircase, stands, leaning against the foot of the
balusters._ MARGARET _comes softly down the stairs, and bending
over, puts her hands on his shoulders_.
MARGARET. A merry Christmas!
GRAY. [_Turning round and kissing her_] And a happy New Year!
MARGARET. It will be--oh, it will be!
GRAY. I almost think it will sometimes. [_Holding her at arms’ length_]
New frock?
MARGARET. Like it?
GRAY. Oh, I’ve seen it already.
MARGARET. Why, it’s the first time I’ve put it on.
GRAY. [_Untying the box on the table as he speaks_] Sydney carted it
along with her last week when we went to choose--this.
MARGARET. [_Like a child with a new toy_] For me, Gray?
GRAY. Looks like it.
MARGARET. Oh, I hope you haven’t been extravagant.
GRAY. [_Opening the lid_] Well, Sydney said--
MARGARET. Silver fox! Oh, my dear, you shouldn’t.
GRAY. Put ’em on. Sydney’s quite a wise child.
MARGARET. [_Luxuriously_] Oh, I do love being spoiled.
GRAY. You haven’t had so much of it, have you, Meg?
MARGARET. [_With a complete change of manner_] Don’t!
GRAY. What?
MARGARET. Don’t call me Meg.
GRAY. Why not?
MARGARET. You never have before.
GRAY. Don’t you see, I want a name for you that no-one else uses.
MARGARET. [_Close to him_] Yes, yes, that no-one else has ever used. Not
Meg. Not Margaret. Make a name of your own for me--new--new.
GRAY. Well, you’re getting one new name pretty soon, anyhow.
MARGARET. Yes. New year--new name--new life. [_In his arms_] Oh, Gray,
is thirty-five very old?
GRAY. Not when you say it.
MARGARET. Oh, Gray, we’ve time for everything still?
GRAY. Time for everything. [_He laughs_] Except church, my child! Do you
really insist on going?
MARGARET. Aunt Hester will be horrified if I don’t. Besides-- [_She comes
back to the table and begins putting the papers together._]
GRAY. What?
MARGARET. I suppose you’ll think me a fool--
GRAY. Shall I?
MARGARET. Oh, Gray, for the first time in my life I’m happy. I want to
say--
GRAY. What does she want to say?
MARGARET. “Humble and hearty thanks--”
SYDNEY _runs in with a puppy in her arms. She is followed by_ KIT.
KIT _is a good-looking, fair-haired boy who may be twenty-two, but
is nevertheless much younger than_ SYDNEY, _whom he takes as
seriously as he takes everything else in life. It is part of her
charm for him that he finds it a little difficult to keep up with
her._
SYDNEY. Mother! Mother! Look what Gray’s brought me!
MARGARET. Oh, Sydney, your aunt isn’t fond of dogs. Merry Christmas,
Kit!
KIT. Merry Christmas, Mrs. Fairfield!
SYDNEY. Yes, but isn’t he an angel? And Kit’s given me a collar for him.
[_She goes up to_ GRAY] You know, Gray, it’s so sweet of you that in
return I’ll--
GRAY. Well?
SYDNEY. [_Conspiratorially_] Make Kit late for church if you like.
GRAY. [_Putting himself in her hands_] I did promise him a lift.
SYDNEY. [_Settling it_] He can cut across the fields. [_Aloud_] Kit,
what about a bone for the angel? You might go and make love to Bassett.
[_She puts the dog into his arms. They stroll off together into the
inner room._]
KIT. [_Earnestly, as he goes out through the baize door_] He ought to be
kept to biscuits.
SYDNEY. [_Calling to him_] Just one to gnaw. [_Then, over her shoulder_]
Mother, the bells have been going quite a while.
MARGARET. [_To_ GRAY] Listen, don’t you love them?
GRAY. Church bells?
MARGARET. Wedding bells.
GRAY. Margaret, you’ve stepped straight out of a Trollope novel.
MARGARET. [_Flushing_] I suppose you think I’m sentimental.
GRAY. No, but you’re pure nineteenth century.
MARGARET. I’m not. [_Telephone bell rings_] Oh!
GRAY. There goes the twentieth. Don’t you see how it makes you jump?
SYDNEY _has gone to the telephone_.
SYDNEY. Hullo! Hullo!... You rang _me_ up. [_She hangs up the receiver_]
“Sorry you have been trubbled!” And it’s sure to be someone trying to
get on.
GRAY. On Christmas morning? Hardly! I say, come along! The bells have
stopped.
MARGARET. [_In a strange voice_] Yes, they stopped when that other bell
rang.
SYDNEY. Why, Mother, what’s the matter?
MARGARET. [_Blindly_] They stopped.
SYDNEY. I told you, darling, you’re late.
MARGARET. Give me my furs. I’m cold. [GRAY _helps her on with them_.]
SYDNEY. [_Proud of her_] They _are_ lovely.
MARGARET. [_At the door, wistfully_] It isn’t too good to be true, is
it?
GRAY. The furs?
MARGARET. Everything! You--oh, what a fool I am! [_You hear_ GRAY’S
_laugh answering hers as they go out together, and the sound of the
motor driving away_.]
SYDNEY. [_Subsiding on to the sofa, to_ KIT, _who has come in as the
others go_] I thought they’d never get off. Mother has a way of standing
around and gently fussing--I tell you I’ll be glad when next week’s
over.
KIT. So’ll I. I haven’t had a look in lately.
SYDNEY. [_With an intimate glance_] Not last night? But it _has_ been a
job, running Mother. I’m bridesmaid and best man and family lawyer and
Juliet’s nurse all rolled into one--and a sort of lightning conductor
for Aunt Hester into the bargain. That’s why I’ve had so little time for
you. It’s quite true what Gray was saying just now--Mother _is_
nineteenth century. She’s sweet and helpless, but she’s obstinate too.
My word, the time she took making up her mind to get that divorce!
KIT. It’s just about that that I’ve been wanting to talk to you. You
see--
SYDNEY. Well?
KIT. You see--
SYDNEY. Hurry up, old thing!
KIT. Well, you see, when I got home last night the governor was sitting
up for me.
SYDNEY. He would be.
KIT. And in the course of the row--_you_ came in to it.
SYDNEY. Oh, but he likes me.
KIT. Yes, he was quite soothed when I said we were engaged.
SYDNEY. Liar!
KIT. [_Serenely_] Oh, well--
SYDNEY. [_She finds his chuckle infectious_] What did he say?
KIT. Oh, lots of rot, of course, about being too young. But he was quite
bucked really until--
SYDNEY. Well?
KIT. Well, I was a fool. I said something, quite by chance, about your
father. Then the fur began to fly. You see, it seems he thought your
mother was a widow--
SYDNEY. [_Ruffling up_] What’s it got to do with him?
KIT. Well, you see--
SYDNEY. If you’d only make me see instead of you-seeing me all the time.
KIT. I’m afraid of hurting your feelings.
SYDNEY. I’m not nineteenth century.
KIT. [_Desperately_] Well, my people are.
SYDNEY. Well?
KIT. That’s the trouble--my people are! Father promptly began about not
seeing his way to--
SYDNEY. To what, Kit?
KIT. To--to marrying them.
SYDNEY. But I’ve never heard of anything so crazy.
KIT. Of course, you know, there’s nothing to worry about. There are
heaps of clergymen who will.
SYDNEY. My dear boy, if Mother isn’t married in her own parish church
she’ll think she’s living in sin.
KIT. Well, there it is!
SYDNEY. But look here, the old rector knew all about it. Do you mean to
say that a new man can come into our parish and insult Mother just
because his beastly conscience doesn’t work the same way the old
rector’s did? The divorce is perfectly legal.
KIT. [_In great discomfort_] Yes, Father knows all that. [_Hopefully_]
Of course, I don’t see myself why a registry office--
SYDNEY. If it were me I’d prefer it. Much less fuss. But Mother
wouldn’t.
KIT. But she ought to see--
SYDNEY. But she won’t. It’s no use reckoning on what people ought to be.
You’ve got to deal with them as they are.
KIT. [_Guiltily_] Well, I’m awfully sorry.
SYDNEY. It’s no use being sorry. We’ve got to do something.
KIT. [_Hopelessly_] When once the old man gets an idea into his head--
SYDNEY. He’d better not let it out in front of Mother. Gray’d half kill
him if he did. And I tell you this, Kit, what Gray leaves I’ll account
for, even if he is your father. Poor little Mother!
KIT. Well I’m all on your side, you know that. But of course, Sydney, a
clergyman needn’t re-marry divorced people. It’s in that bill. The
governor was quoting it to-day.
SYDNEY. But doesn’t he know the circumstances?
KIT. He only knows what I do.
SYDNEY. One doesn’t shout things at people, naturally. But it’s nothing
to be ashamed of. It’s only that my unfortunate father has been in an
asylum ever since I can remember. Shell-shock. It began before I was
born. He never came home again. Mother had to give up going to see him
even. It seemed to make him worse.
KIT. Pretty tragic.
SYDNEY. Oh, for years now he hasn’t known anyone, luckily. And he’s well
looked after. He’s quite all right.
KIT. [_Uncomfortably_] You’re a queer girl.
SYDNEY. But he is.
KIT. Yes--but--
SYDNEY. What?
KIT. Your own father--
SYDNEY. [_Impatiently_] My dear boy, I’ve never even seen him. Oh, of
course it’s very sad, but I can’t go about with my handkerchief to my
eyes all the time, can I?
KIT. Yes--but--
SYDNEY. I hate cant.
KIT. [_Leaning over the back of the sofa, his hands playing with her
chain_] You little brute--you’re as hard as nails, aren’t you?
SYDNEY. [_Putting up her face to him_] Am I? [_They kiss._]
MISS FAIRFIELD. [_Passing through_] Really Sydney! Before lunch!
KIT. You know, old thing, sometimes I don’t feel as if I should ever
really get on with your aunt.
SYDNEY. [_Dimpling_] You’ll have to if--
KIT. Good Lord! You don’t want her in the house!
SYDNEY. [_Calmly_] I must take her off Mother sometimes. That’s only
fair. But she shan’t worry you.
KIT. I say, you’re going to have things your own way, aren’t you?
SYDNEY. But of course I am, darling.
KIT. [_Heavily_] But look here--marriage is a sort of mutual show, isn’t
it? We’ve got to pull together.
SYDNEY. Of course.
KIT. But suppose we come to a cross-roads, so to speak?
SYDNEY. Well, somebody’ll have to give way, won’t they, darling?
KIT. Hm!
SYDNEY. My dear boy, if you want a door-mat you’d better look out for
someone--someone like poor dear Mother, for instance.
KIT. [_Wiser than he knows_] But you _are_ like her, Sydney!
SYDNEY. Me? Do you think I’d let my daughter run me the way I run
Mother? Not much!
MISS FAIRFIELD. [_Re-entering_] I think I left my-- [_murmurs_].
SYDNEY. [_Aside_] It’s no good. She’s doing this on purpose because I
cheeked her. You’d better go, old man. Besides, they must be well
through the anthem.
KIT. [_Disturbed_] Good Lord! I should think I had better go!
SYDNEY. [_Going with him to the door_] I say, keep your father quiet
till I’ve had time to talk to Gray.
KIT. Right! [_He goes out._]
SYDNEY. [_Calling_] Kit!
KIT. [_Reappearing_] Yes?
SYDNEY. Come round in the afternoon.
KIT. Right! [_He goes out._]
SYDNEY. [_Calling_] Kit!
KIT. [_Reappearing_] Yes?
SYDNEY. I don’t suppose there’ll ever be any cross-roads.
KIT. Darling! [_A scuffle._ SYDNEY _reappears patting her hair_.]
MISS FAIRFIELD. I’m afraid I disturbed a _tête-à-tête_.
SYDNEY. [_Sweetly_] Oh, Auntie, whatever made you think that?
MISS FAIRFIELD. But I really couldn’t sit in the drawing-room. There’s
no fire. [_She sits down and opens her book_.]
SYDNEY. [_In a soft little voice, hums_] “When we are married we’ll have
sausages for tea.”
MISS FAIRFIELD. Do you mind being quiet while I read the service?
SYDNEY. Sorry! [_She takes up some knitting._]
MISS FAIRFIELD. What are you doing?
SYDNEY. Tie for Kit.
MISS FAIRFIELD. Sydney! Needlework on Sunday!
SYDNEY. Well, I can’t sit in the drawing-room either if there’s no
fire.
MISS FAIRFIELD. There’s no need to lose your temper.
SYDNEY. [_Out of patience_] Here, I’m going. [_As she makes for the
staircase the telephone gives a broken tinkle._]
MISS FAIRFIELD. Sydney, I believe that telephone’s going off!
SYDNEY. Yes, I’m sure it’s someone trying to get on. They’ve rung up
once already.
MISS FAIRFIELD. Sydney, I won’t be left to deal with it. [_The telephone
rings deafeningly._] There, I told you so.
SYDNEY. Well, it’s not my fault! [_She takes off the receiver_] Hullo!
Hullo!... Yes.... Yes.... Yes.... [_To her aunt_] It’s a trunk call.
MISS FAIRFIELD. Who on earth--?
SYDNEY. Yes.... Hullo!... Yes.... Mrs. Fairfield’s out. Shall I take a
message?... This is Miss Fairfield speaking.... All right, I’ll hold
on.... [_To her aunt_] Auntie, it’s from Bedford. It’s about Father.
[_Into the telephone_] Yes.... This is Miss Fairfield speaking....
What?... Good Lord!
MISS FAIRFIELD. Sydney, don’t say “Good Lord”!
SYDNEY. But you should have let Mrs. Fairfield know!... Only this
morning? Oh, I see.... No, we’ve heard nothing. When did you find
out?... What makes you--? I see.... No, he’s not here.... Of course we’d
let you know.... Then you’ll let us know at once if anything ...
yes.... _Miss_ Fairfield. Mrs. Fairfield is going away very soon....
Thank you.... Good-bye.
SYDNEY _hangs up the receiver and turns round_.
MISS FAIRFIELD. Well?
SYDNEY. Father’s got away.
MISS FAIRFIELD. What? Who spoke to you?
SYDNEY. The head man--what’s his name? Rogers! Frightfully upset.
MISS FAIRFIELD. I should think so. Why, the poor fellow’s dangerous.
SYDNEY. Apparently he’s been very much better lately, and this last
week, a marked change, he says.
MISS FAIRFIELD. [_Agitated_] You mean he’s getting well?
SYDNEY. Looks like it. Rogers was awfully guarded but--apparently they’d
already written to Uncle Hugh and the solicitors.
MISS FAIRFIELD. They ought to have written to me.
SYDNEY. Of course, they wouldn’t write to Mother--now--but we ought to
have heard.
MISS FAIRFIELD. When did they miss him?
SYDNEY. This morning. Then a lot about its being inexplicable and the
precautions they had taken and so on. The fact remains that he has
managed to get away.
MISS FAIRFIELD. It’s disgraceful carelessness.
SYDNEY. Their theory is that he has suddenly come to himself. Is it
possible, Auntie? Can it happen?
MISS FAIRFIELD. It’s quite possible. It does. It was the same with my
poor sister, Grace. After ten years that was.
SYDNEY. But the doctors said incurable.
MISS FAIRFIELD. The Almighty’s greater than the doctors. And
nerves--nerves are queer things. I nursed your Aunt Grace. Well, I
always told your mother to wait.
SYDNEY. [_Struck_] Is that a fact about Aunt Grace? Was she out of her
mind too?
MISS FAIRFIELD. She never had to be sent away.
SYDNEY. Nobody ever told me.
MISS FAIRFIELD. There’s something in most families.
SYDNEY. But with Father--wasn’t it shell-shock?
MISS FAIRFIELD. It was brought on by shell-shock.
SYDNEY. D’you mean that in our family there’s insanity?
MISS FAIRFIELD. [_Fidgeting_] That’s not the way to talk. But we’re
nervy, all of us, we’re nervy. Your poor father would have been no worse
than the rest if it hadn’t been for the war.
SYDNEY. [_Slowly_] What do you mean, “nervy”?
MISS FAIRFIELD. [_With a sidelong glance_] I mean the way you’re taking
this.
SYDNEY. [_Sharply_] How am I taking it?
MISS FAIRFIELD. [_Irritated_] Well, look at you now.
SYDNEY. [_Coldly_] I’m perfectly under control.
MISS FAIRFIELD. That’s it. It’s not natural.
SYDNEY. [_Slowly_] You mean, I shouldn’t bother to control myself if--
MISS FAIRFIELD. [_Hastily_] You’re too young to think about such things.
SYDNEY.--if I weren’t afraid, you mean. Did Mother know--when she
married?
MISS FAIRFIELD. I tell you there are troubles in every family, but one
doesn’t talk about them.
SYDNEY. But did she _know_ the trouble was insanity?
MISS FAIRFIELD. [_Shortly_] I don’t know.
SYDNEY. Did Father?
MISS FAIRFIELD. One always knows in a general sort of way.
SYDNEY. [_Relentlessly_] Am I nervy?
MISS FAIRFIELD. Young people don’t have nerves.
SYDNEY. Insanity! A thing you can hand on! And I told Kit it was
shell-shock!
MISS FAIRFIELD. I don’t see what difference it makes to Christopher.
SYDNEY. You don’t see what difference--? You don’t see--? [_To herself_]
But _I_ see [_There is a pause]_ Aunt Hester, suppose Father really gets
well--?
MISS FAIRFIELD. Well?
SYDNEY. Whatever will he do?
MISS FAIRFIELD. It’s a question of what your mother will do.
SYDNEY. But it won’t have anything to do with Mother.
MISS FAIRFIELD. [_Grimly_] Won’t it?
SYDNEY. What on earth are you driving at?
MISS FAIRFIELD. I can’t discuss it with you.
SYDNEY. Why not?
MISS FAIRFIELD. You’re too young.
SYDNEY. I’m old enough to be engaged.
MISS FAIRFIELD. You’re not engaged.
SYDNEY. [_Insolently_] Kissed then. You saw that half an hour ago,
didn’t you? I might just as well say I can’t discuss it with you because
you’re too old.
MISS FAIRFIELD. How dare you speak to me like that?
SYDNEY. [_Beside herself_] Oh, are all old people such stone walls?
Here’s a shadow, here’s a trouble, here’s a ghost in the house--and when
I ask you what shall I do, you talk about your blessed dignity!
MISS FAIRFIELD. [_Rising_] This is the second time in one morning that
you have driven me out of the room.
SYDNEY. [_Wringing her hands_] Well, I’m sorry! But I’m so worried.
Don’t you see I’ve got to keep it off Mother? and Kit! Oh, I’ve got to
tell Kit! [_Following her irresolutely_] Auntie, if you’d only be
decent. [_But_ MISS FAIRFIELD _has gone out_. SYDNEY _turns back into
the room_] If I only knew what to do!
_She stands hesitating. Then she goes to the telephone: makes a
movement as if to take it down but checks herself, shaking her
head. She comes back to the sofa at last and flings herself down on
it, fidgeting with the cushions and frowning. She is roused by the
click of a latch as the French window in the inner room is softly
opened, and_ HILARY FAIRFIELD _steps over the threshold. He is a
big, fresh-coloured man with grey hair and bowed shoulders. In
speech and movements he is quick and jerky, inclined to be
boisterous, but pathetically easy to check. This he knows himself,
and he has, indeed, an air of being always in rebellion against his
own habit of obedience. He comes in, treading softly, his bright
eyes dancing with excitement, like a child getting ready to spring
a surprise on somebody. Something in the fashion of the empty room
(for he does not see_ SYDNEY _crouching in the cushions)
disconcerts him. He hesitates. The happy little smile fades. His
eye wanders from one object to another and he moves about,
recognising a picture here, fingering there an unfamiliar hanging,
as it were losing and finding himself a dozen times in his progress
round the room. He comes to a stand at last before the fire-place,
warming his hands. Then he takes out a pipe and with the other
hand feels absently along the mantel-piece for the matches._
SYDNEY, _who has been watching him with a sort of breathless
sympathy, says softly_:--
SYDNEY. What are you looking for?
HILARY. They’ve moved my-- [_with a start_] eh? [_He turns sharply and
sees her_] Meg! It’s Meg! [_With a rush_] Oh, my own darling!
SYDNEY. [_Her confidence in her power to deal with the situation
suddenly gone_] I--I’m not Meg.
HILARY. [_Boisterously_] Not Meg! Tell me I don’t know Meg! [SYDNEY
_gives a nervous schoolgirl giggle_] Eh? [_Then, his voice changing
completely_] No, it’s not Meg. [_Uneasily_] I beg your pardon. I thought
you were--another girl. I’ve been away a long time.
SYDNEY. Whom do you want?
HILARY. [_Startled again_] There, you see, it’s her voice too. Who are
you?
SYDNEY. [_Fencing_] How did you get in?
HILARY. Tool-shed gate. [_Louder_] Who are you?
SYDNEY. Where have you come from?
HILARY. Bedford. Took a car. [_Lashing himself into an agitation_] Who
are you?
SYDNEY. Whom do you want to see?
HILARY. [_Losing all control_] Who are you?
SYDNEY. [_Slowly_] I think I’m your daughter. [HILARY _stares at her
blankly. Then he bursts out laughing._]
HILARY. Daughter! Daughter! By God, that’s good! My wife isn’t my wife,
she’s my daughter! And my daughter’s seventeen and I’m twenty-two.
SYDNEY. You’re forgetting what years and years--
HILARY. Yes, of course. It’s years and years. It’s a life-time. It’s my
daughter’s lifetime. What’s your name--daughter?
SYDNEY. Sydney.
HILARY. Sydney. Sydney, eh? My mother was Sydney. I like Sydney.
I-- [_catching at his dignity_] I suppose we’re rather a shock to each
other--Sydney.
SYDNEY. No. You’re not a shock to me. But I’m afraid--
HILARY. [_Breaking in_] Is my--? Is your--? Where’s Margaret?
SYDNEY. At church.
HILARY. Back soon, eh?
SYDNEY. Yes, that’s why I’m afraid--
HILARY. [_Unheeding_] I might go to meet her, eh?
SYDNEY. [_Quickly_] Oh, I wouldn’t. Come and sit down and wait for her
and talk.
HILARY. [_Obediently_] Very well. [_He sits down beside her on the sofa.
They look at each other. He says shyly_] I say, isn’t this queer?
SYDNEY. It makes me want to cry.
HILARY. Why? That’s all over. Laugh! Laugh! That’s the thing to do. What
a lovely room this is! I can’t say I like the new paper--or the
curtains!
SYDNEY. [_Quickly_] Yes, I liked the old red ones, too. [_Then, with an
effort_] Those--aren’t--the only changes. Everything changes--
HILARY. [_Swiftly_] Bet you Aunt Hester hasn’t, eh? [_They look at each
other and laugh._] And I bet you--I say, is your mother such a darling
still?
SYDNEY. [_Recalled to the business before her, brusquely_] Look
here--Father--
HILARY. [_Savouring it_] “Father!” “Father!” Well?
SYDNEY. We’ve got to talk. We’ve got to get things straight before she
comes back.
HILARY. [_His eye and his attention beginning to wander_] Back soon, eh?
Why has Meg moved the clock? It was much better where we put it. Must
get it put back. Nearly one. She’s late, isn’t she? I--I really think,
you know, I’ll go out and meet your mother.
SYDNEY. [_Authoritatively_] You’re to stay here.
HILARY. [_Beginning obediently_] Very well-- [_He flares suddenly_] I’ll
do as I like about that.
SYDNEY. [_Passionately_] I’ll not have you frighten her.
HILARY. I? [_He smiles securely._]
SYDNEY. Can’t you realise what the shock--?
HILARY. [_Blissfully_] Never known anyone die of joy yet!
SYDNEY. Father, you don’t understand! You and mother--
HILARY. [_Getting irritated_] Look here, this is nothing to do with
you--
SYDNEY. But you mustn’t--
HILARY [_Violently_] Now I tell you I’m not going to be hectored. I
won’t stand it. I’ve had enough of it. D’you hear? I’ve had enough of
it.
SYDNEY. If you talk to my mother like this--
HILARY. [_Softening_] Meg understands.
SYDNEY [_Jealously_] So do I understand.
HILARY. I believe you do. You got wild all in a moment. That’s my way,
too. It means nothing. Meg can’t see that it means nothing. But it makes
a man wild, you know, to be dragooned when he’s as sane as--my God, I
_am_ sane! That’s all over, isn’t it? I am sane. Daughter!
SYDNEY. [_Watching him_] Father?
HILARY. Don’t let me get--that way. It’s bad. Help me to go slow. I’m as
well as you are, you know. But it’s new. It only happened to-day--like a
curtain lifting. [_Confidentially_] You see I was standing in the
garden--
SYDNEY. I can’t conceive how you got away.
HILARY. Led. Like Peter out of prison. I went through the gate, openly.
Their eyes were blinded. [_With a complete change of tone_] Pure luck,
you know. There were visitors going out--and I nipped along with them,
talking. No-one spotted me. I wouldn’t have believed it possible. Heaps
of us--of them, I mean--have tried, you know.
SYDNEY. But you’d no money.
HILARY. [_Whimsically_] I took the first taxi I saw. Promised him
double. He’s at the lower gate now, waiting to be paid.
SYDNEY. Father, _dear_! Ticking away the tuppences! We’re not
millionaires!
HILARY. [_Carelessly_] Your mother’ll see to it. [_Sound of a motor
horn_] That’s him! I suppose he’s got tired of waiting and come round.
SYDNEY. No, no! That’ll be Mother. You mustn’t stop here. You must let
me tell her. You must let me tell her first. [_She goes out hurriedly._]
HILARY. Your mother, is it? Your mother, eh? Here--child--a minute, give
me a minute! give me a minute!
MARGARET. [_As she comes in_] No--he couldn’t. But he’s coming round
directly after lunch--Hilary!
HILARY. [_Like a man who can’t see_] Meg! Is it Meg? Meg, I’ve come
home.
MARGARET. [_Terrified_] Sydney, don’t go away!
SYDNEY. It’s all right, Mother!
HILARY. Meg!
MARGARET. But they said--they said--incurable. They shouldn’t have
said--incurable.
HILARY. What does it matter? I’m well. I’m well, Meg! I tell you--it
came over me like a lantern flash--like a face turning to you. I was in
the garden, you know--lost. I was a lost soul--outcast! No hope. I can
never make anyone understand. I was never like the rest of them. I was
sane, always--but--the face was turned away.
SYDNEY. What face?
HILARY. The face of God.
MARGARET. Sydney--is he--?
SYDNEY.--It’s all right, Mother! That isn’t madness. He’s come to
himself.
MARGARET. Then--then--what am I to do?
HILARY. What’s that? [_He comes nearer._]
MARGARET. I--I--
HILARY. [_Staring at her_] You don’t say a word. One would think you
weren’t glad to see me. Aren’t you glad to see me?
MARGARET. Of course--glad--you poor Hilary!
HILARY. If you knew what it is to say to myself--I’m at home! That
place--!
MARGARET. [_Mechanically_] Oh, but there was every comfort.
HILARY. Hell! Hell!
MARGARET. [_Insisting_] But they were good to you?
HILARY. Good enough.
MARGARET. [_In acute distress_] They didn’t--ill-treat--?
SYDNEY. Mother, you know you did the very best--
HILARY. If it had been heaven--what difference does it make? I was a
dead man. Do you know what the dead do in heaven? They sit on their
golden chairs and sicken for home. Why did you never come?
MARGARET. They wouldn’t let me. It made you worse.
HILARY. Because I wanted you so.
MARGARET. But you didn’t know me.
HILARY. My voice didn’t--and my speech and my actions didn’t. But _I_
knew you. Meg--behind the curtain--behind the dreams and the noises, and
the abandonment of God--I wanted you. I wanted--I wanted-- [_He puts his
hand to his head._] Look here--I tell you we mustn’t talk of these
things. It’s not safe, I tell you. When I talk I see a black hand
reaching up through the floor--do you see? there--through the widening
crack of the floor--to catch me by the ankle and drag--drag--
SYDNEY. Father--Father--go slow!
MARGARET. [_Terrified_] Sydney!
SYDNEY. It’s all right, Mother! We’ll manage.
HILARY. [_Turning to her_] Yes, you tell your mother. I’m all right! You
understand that, don’t you? Once it was a real hand. Now I know it’s in
my mind. I tell you, Meg, I’m well. But it’s not safe to think about
anything but--Oh, my dear, the holly and the crackle of the fire and the
snow like a veil of peace on me--and you like the snow--so still--
_He comes to her with outstretched arms._
MARGARET [_Faintly_] No--no--no--
HILARY. [_Exalted_] Yes--yes--yes! [_He catches her to him._]
MARGARET. For pity’s sake, Hilary--!
BASSETT. [_Entering_] Lunch is served, Ma’am!
MARGARET. [_Helplessly_] Sydney?
SYDNEY. Lay an extra cover. This--my--this gentleman is staying to
lunch.
HILARY. [_Boisterously_] Staying to lunch! to lunch! That’s a good joke,
isn’t it? I say, listen! I’m laughing. Do you know, I’m laughing? It’s
blessed to laugh. Staying to lunch! Yes, my girl! Lunch and tea and
supper and breakfast, thank God! and for many a long day!
CURTAIN.