Produced by Georgia Young, Tiffany Vergon, Charles
Aldarondo, Charles Franks, and the Online Distributed
Proofreaders Team
EMLYN WILLIAMS
NIGHT MUST FALL
A PLAY IN THREE ACTS
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
THE PERFORMING RIGHTS OF THIS PLAY ARE FULLY PROTECTED, AND PERMISSION
TO PERFORM IT, WHETHER BY AMATEURS OR PROFESSIONALS, MUST BE GAINED IN
ADVANCE FROM THE AUTHOR'S SOLE AGENT, WALTER PEACOCK, 60 HAYMARKET,
LONDON, S.W. I.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA BY THE VAN REES PRESS
EH
_To_ M. W.
THE CHARACTERS
(_in the order of their appearance_)
THE LORD CHIEF JUSTICE
MRS. BRAMSON
OLIVIA GRAYNE Her niece
HUBERT LAURIE
NURSE LIBBY
MRS. TERENCE Mrs. Bramson's cook
DORA PARKOE Her maid
INSPECTOR BELSIZE
DAN
BEFORE THE PLAY
The Court of Criminal Appeal
_The action of the play takes place in the sitting-room of Forest
Corner, Mrs. Bramson's bungalow in Essex._
_The time is the present_.
ACT I: A morning in October.
ACT II SCENE I: An afternoon twelve days later. SCENE II: Late
afternoon, two days later.
ACT III SCENE I: Half an hour later. Nightfall. SCENE II: Half an hour
later.
BEFORE THE PLAY
_The orchestra plays light tunes until the house lights are turned
down; the curtain rises in darkness, accompanied by solemn music. A
small light grows in the middle of the stage, and shows the_ LORD
CHIEF JUSTICE _sitting in judgment, wearing wig and red robes of
office, in the Court of Criminal Appeal. His voice, cold and
disapproving, gradually swells up with the light as he reaches his
peroration_.
LORD CHIEF JUSTICE: ... and there is no need to recapitulate here the
arguments for and against this point of law, which we heard in the long
and extremely fair summing up at the trial of the appellant at the
Central Criminal Court. The case was clearly put to the jury; and it is
against sentence of death for these two murders that the prisoner now
appeals. Which means that the last stage of this important and
extremely horrible case has now been reached. On a later page in the
summing up, the learned judge said this ... (_turning over
papers_) ... "This case has, through the demeanour of the prisoner
in the witness-box, obtained the most widespread and scandalous
publicity, which I would beg you most earnestly, members of the jury,
to forget." I cannot help thinking that the deplorable atmosphere of
sentimental melodrama which has pervaded this trial has made the
_theatre_ a more fitting background for it than a court of law;
but we are in a court of law, nevertheless, and the facts have been
placed before the court. A remarkable and in my opinion praiseworthy
feature of the case has been that the sanity of the prisoner has never
been called into question; and, like the learned judge, the Court must
dismiss as mischievous pretence the attitude of this young man who
stands convicted of two brutal murders in cold blood. This case has,
from beginning to end, exhibited no feature calling for sympathy; the
evidence has on every point been conclusive, and on this evidence the
jury have convicted the appellant. In the opinion of the Court there is
no reason to interfere with that conviction, and this appeal must be
dismissed.
_The chords of solemn music are heard again, and the stage gradually
darkens. A few seconds later the music merges into the sound of church
bells playing far away, and the lights come up on_.
ACT I
_The sitting-room of Forest Corner_, MRS. BRAMSON'S _bungalow in
a forest in Essex, A fine morning in October.
Centre back, a small hall; in its left side the front door of the house
(throughout the play, "left" and "right" refer to the audience's left
and right). Thick plush curtains can be drawn across the entrance to
the hall; they are open at the moment. Windows, one on each side of the
hall, with window-seats and net curtains beyond which can be glimpsed
the pine-trees of the forest. In the left wall, upstage, a door leading
to the kitchen. In the left wall, downstage, the fireplace; above it, a
cretonne-covered sofa, next to a very solid cupboard built into the
wall; below it a cane armchair. In the right wall, upstage, a door
leading to _MRS. BRAMSON'S _bedroom. In the right wall, downstage,
wide-open paned doors leading to the sun-room. Right downstage, next
the sun-room, a large dining-table with four straight chairs round it.
Between the bedroom and the sun-room, a desk with books on it, a
cupboard below it, and a hanging mirror on the wall above. Above the
bedroom, a corner medicine cupboard. Between the hall and the right
window, an occasional table.
The bungalow is tawdry but cheerful; it is built entirely of wood, with
an oil lamp fixed in the wall over the occasional table. The room is
comfortably furnished, though in fussy and eccentric Victorian taste;
stuffed birds, Highland cattle in oils, antimacassars, and wax fruit
are unobtrusively in evidence. On the mantelpiece, an ornate chiming
clock. The remains of breakfast on a tray on the table_.
MRS. BRAMSON _is sitting in a wheeled chair in the centre of the
room. She is a fussy, discontented, common woman of fifty-five,
old-fashioned both in clothes and coiffure_; NURSE LIBBY, _a kindly,
matter-of-fact young north-country woman in district nurse's uniform,
is sitting on the sofa, massaging one of her hands_. OLIVIA GRAYNE
_sits on the old woman's right; holding a book; she is a subdued
young woman of twenty-eight, her hair tied severely in a knot, wearing
horn-rimmed spectacles; there is nothing in any way remarkable about
her at the moment_. HUBERT LAURIE _is sitting in the armchair,
scanning the "Daily Telegraph." He is thirty-five, moustached, hearty,
and pompous, wearing plus fours and smoking a pipe.
A pause. The church bells die away_.
MRS. BRAMSON (_sharply_): Go on.
OLIVIA (_reading_): "... Lady Isabel humbly crossed her attenuated
hands upon her chest. 'I am on my way to God,' she whispered, 'to
answer for all my sins and sorrows.' 'Child,' said Miss Carlyle, 'had
_I_ anything to do with sending you from ...' (_turning over_)
'... East Lynne?' Lady Isabel shook her head and cast down
her gaze."
MRS. BRAMSON (_aggressively_): Now that's what I call a beautiful
character.
NURSE: Very pretty. But the poor thing'd have felt that much better
tucked up in 'ospital instead of lying about her own home gassing her
'ead off----
MRS. BRAMSON: Sh!
NURSE: Sorry.
OLIVIA (_reading_): "'Thank God,' inwardly breathed Miss Corny....
'Forgive me,' she said loudly and in agitation. 'I want to see
Archibald,' whispered Lady Isabel."
MRS. BRAMSON: You don't see many books like _East Lynne_ about
nowadays.
HUBERT: No, you don't.
OLIVIA (_reading_): "'I want to see Archibald,' whispered Lady
Isabel. 'I have prayed Joyce to bring him to me, and she will not----'"
MRS. BRAMSON (_sharply_): Olivia!
OLIVIA: Yes, auntie?
MRS. BRAMSON (_craftily_): You're not skipping, are you?
OLIVIA: Am I?
MRS. BRAMSON: You've missed out about Lady Isabel taking up her cross
and the weight of it killing her. I may be a fool, but I do know
_East Lynne_.
OLIVIA: Perhaps there were two pages stuck together.
MRS. BRAMSON: Very convenient when you want your walk, eh? Yes, I
_am_ a fool, I suppose, as well as an invalid.
OLIVIA: But I thought you were so much better----
NURSE: You'd two helpings of bacon at breakfast, remember----
MRS. BRAMSON: Doctor's orders. You know every mouthful's agony to me.
HUBERT (_deep in his paper_): There's a man here in Weston-super-Mare
who stood on his head for twenty minutes for a bet, and he hasn't
come to yet.
MRS. BRAMSON (_sharply_): I thought this morning I'd never be able
to face the day.
HUBERT: But last night when you opened the port----
MRS. BRAMSON: I've had a relapse since then. My heart's going like
anything. Give me a chocolate.
OLIVIA _rises and fetches her a chocolate from a large box on the
table._
NURSE: How does it feel?
MRS. BRAMSON: Nasty. (_Munching her chocolate._) I _know_
it's neuritis.
NURSE: You know, Mrs. Bramson, what you want isn't massage at all, only
exercise. Your body----
MRS. BRAMSON: Don't you dictate to me about my body. Nobody here
understands my body or anything else about me. As for sympathy, I've
forgotten the meaning of the word. (_To_ OLIVIA) What's the matter
with your face?
OLIVIA (_startled_): I--I really don't know.
MRS. BRAMSON: It's as long as my arm.
OLIVIA (_drily_): I'm afraid it's made like that.
_She crosses the room, and comes back again._
MRS. BRAMSON: What are you walking up and down for? What's the matter
with you? Aren't you happy here?
OLIVIA: It's a bit lonely, but I'll get used to it.
MRS. BRAMSON: Lonely? All these lovely woods? What _are_ you
talking about? Don't you like nature?
NURSE: Will that be all for to-day?
MRS. BRAMSON: I suppose it'll have to be.
NURSE (_rising and taking her bag from the sofa_): Well, I've that
confined lady still waiting in Shepperley. (_Going into the hall_)
Toodle-oo!
MRS. BRAMSON: Mind you call again Wednesday. In case my neuritis sets
in again.
NURSE (_turning in the hall_): I will that. And if paralysis pops
up, let me know. Toodle-oo!
_She marches cheerily out of the front door._
MRS. BRAMSON _cannot make up her mind if the last remark is sarcastic
or not. She concentrates on_ OLIVIA.
MRS. BRAMSON: You know, you mustn't think just because this house is
lonely you're going to get a rise in salary. Oh, no.... I expect you've
an idea I'm worth a good bit of money, haven't you?... It isn't my
money you're after, is it?
OLIVIA (_setting chairs to rights round the table_): I'm sorry,
but my sense of humour can't stand the strain. I'll have to go.
MRS. BRAMSON: Can you afford to go?
OLIVIA (_after a pause, controlling herself_): You know I can't.
MRS. BRAMSON: Then don't talk such nonsense. Clear the breakfast
things.
OLIVIA _hesitates, then crosses to the kitchen door._
(_Muttering_): Sense of humour indeed, never heard of such a
thing....
OLIVIA (_at the door_): Mrs. Terence, will you clear away?
_She goes to the left window, and looks out._
MRS. BRAMSON: You wait, my girl. Pride comes before a fall. Won't catch
a husband with your nose in the air, you know.
OLIVIA: I don't want a husband.
MRS. BRAMSON: Don't like men, I suppose? Never heard of them, I
suppose? Don't believe you. See?
OLIVIA (_resigned_): I see. It's going to be a fine day.
MRS. BRAMSON (_taking up "East Lynne" from the table_): It'll
cloud over, I expect.
OLIVIA: I don't think so. The trees look beautiful with the sun on
them. Everything looks so clean. (_Lifting up three books from the
window seat_) Shall I pack the other half of Mrs. Henry Wood?
MRS. BRAMSON: Mrs. Henry Wood? Who's Mrs. Henry Wood? Pack the other
half of Mrs. Henry Wood? What are you talking about?
OLIVIA: She wrote your favourite book--_East Lynne_.
MRS. BRAMSON (_looking at her book_): Oh ... (_Picking a paper
out of it_.) What's this? (_Reading ponderously_) A sonnet.
"The flame of passion is not red but white, not quick but slow--"
OLIVIA (_going to her and snatching it from her with a cry_):
Don't!
MRS. BRAMSON: Writing poetry! That's a hobby and a half, I must say!
"Flame of passion ..." _well!_
OLIVIA (_crossing to the fireplace_): It's only a silly poem I
amused myself with at college. It's not meant for anybody but me.
MRS. BRAMSON: You're a dark horse, you are.
MRS. TERENCE _enters from the kitchen. She is the cook, middle-aged,
Cockney, and fearless. She carries a bunch of roses_.
MRS. TERENCE (_grimly_): Would you be wanting anything?
MRS. BRAMSON: Yes. Clear away.
MRS. TERENCE: That's Dora's job. Where's Dora?
OLIVIA: She's gone into the clearing for some firewood.
MRS. BRAMSON: You can't expect the girl to gather firewood with one
hand and clear breakfast with the other. Clear away.
MRS. TERENCE (_crossing to the table, under her breath_): All
right, you sour-faced old hag.
HUBERT _drops his pipe_. MRS. BRAMSON _winces_ and looks
away. MRS. TERENCE clears the table.
HUBERT (_to_ OLIVIA): What--what was that she said?
MRS. TERENCE: She 'eard. And then she 'as to save 'er face and pretend
she 'asn't. She knows nobody but me'd stay with 'er a day if I went.
MRS. BRAMSON: She oughtn't to talk to me like that. I know she steals
my sugar.
MRS. TERENCE: That's a living lie. (_Going round to her_) Here are
your roses.
MRS. BRAMSON: You've cut them too young. I knew you would.
MRS. TERENCE (_taking up her tray and starting for the kitchen_):
Then you come out and pick the ones you want, and you'll only 'ave
yourself to blame.
MRS. BRAMSON: That's a nice way to talk to an invalid.
MRS. TERENCE: If you're an invalid, I'm the Prince of Wales.
_She goes back into the kitchen_.
OLIVIA: Would you like me to read some more?
BRAMSON: No. I'm upset for the day now. I'd better see she does pick
the right roses. (_Wheeling herself, muttering_) That woman's a
menace. Good mind to bring an action against her. She ought to be put
away.... (_Shouting_) Wait for me, wait for me!
_Her voice dies away in the kitchen. The kitchen door closes_.
HUBERT _and_ OLIVIA _are alone_.
OLIVIA: That's the fifth action she's threatened to bring this week.
(_She crosses to the right window._)
HUBERT: She's a good one to talk about putting away. Crikey! She'll be
found murdered one of these days.... (_Suddenly reading from his
paper_) "In India a population of three and a half hundred million
is loyal to Britain; now----"
OLIVIA: Oh, Hubert! (_Good humouredly_) I thought I'd cured you of
that.
HUBERT: Sorry.
OLIVIA: You've only had two weeks of her. I've had six.
_A pause. She sighs restlessly._
HUBERT: Fed up?
OLIVIA: It's such a very inadequate expression, don't you think?...
(_After a pause_) How bright the sun is to-day....
_She is pensive, far-away, smiling._
HUBERT: A penny for 'em.
OLIVIA: I was just thinking ... I often wonder on a very fine morning
what it'll be like ... for night to come. And I never can. And yet it's
got to.... (_Looking at his perplexed face_) It is silly, isn't
it?
_DORA comes in from the kitchen with a duster and crosses towards the
bedroom. She is a pretty, stupid, and rather sluttish country girl of
twenty, wearing a maid's uniform. She looks depressed_.
Who are those men, Dora?
DORA: What men, miss?
OLIVIA: Over there, behind the clearing.
DORA: Oh.... (_Peering past her_) Oh. 'Adn't seen them. What are
they doing poking about in that bush?
OLIVIA (_absently_): I don't know. I saw them yesterday too,
farther down the woods.
DORA (_lamely_): I expect they're looking for something.
_She goes into the bedroom._
HUBERT: She looks a bit off-colour, doesn't she?
OLIVIA: The atmosphere must be getting her down too.
HUBERT: I'm wondering if I'm going to be able to stand it myself.
Coming over here every day for another week.
OLIVIA (_smiling_): There's nothing to prevent you staying at
_home_ every day for another week ... is there?
HUBERT (_still apparently reading his paper_): Oh, yes, there is.
What d'you think I invite myself to lunch every day for? You don't
think it's the old geyser, do you?
OLIVIA (_smiling_): No.
_She comes down to the table._
HUBERT: Don't want to sound rude, et cetera, but women don't get men
proposing to them every day, you know ... (_Turning over a page_)
Gosh, what a wizard machine--
OLIVIA (_sitting at the left of the table_): I can't think
_why_ you want to marry me, as a matter of fact. It isn't the same
as if I were very pretty, or something.
HUBERT: You do say some jolly rum things, Olivia, upon my soul.
OLIVIA: I'll tell _you_ why, then, if it makes you feel any
better. You're cautious; and you want to marry me because I'm quiet.
I'd make you a steady wife, and run a home for you.
HUBERT: There's nothing to be ashamed of in being steady. I'm steady
myself.
OLIVIA: I know you are. HUBERT: Then why aren't you keen?
OLIVIA (_after a pause, tolerant but weary_): Because you're an
unmitigated bore.
HUBERT: A bore? (_Horrified_) _Me_, a bore? Upon my word,
Olivia, I think you're a bit eccentric, I do really. Sorry to be rude,
and all that, but that's put the kybosh on it! People could call me a
thing or two, but I've never been called a bore!
OLIVIA: Bores never are. People are too bored with them to call them
anything.
HUBERT: I suppose you'd be more likely to say "Yes" if I were an
unmitigated bounder?
OLIVIA (_with a laugh_): Oh, don't be silly....
HUBERT (_going to her_): You're a rum girl, Olivia, upon my soul
you are. P'raps that's why I think you're so jolly attractive. Like a
mouse one minute, and then this straight-from-the-shoulder business....
What _is_ a sonnet?
OLIVIA: It's a poem of fourteen lines.
HUBERT: Oh, yes, Shakespeare.... Never knew you did a spot of rhyming,
Olivia! Now that's what I mean about you.... We'll have to start
calling you Elizabeth Bronte!
_She turns away. He studies her_.
You _are_ bored, aren't you?
_He walks to the sun-room. She rouses herself and turns to him
impetuously_.
OLIVIA: I'm being silly, I know--of course I _ought_ to get
married, and _of course_ this is a wonderful chance, and--HUBERT
(_moving to her_): Good egg! Then you will? OLIVIA (_stalling_):
Give me a--another week or two--will you?
HUBERT: Oh. My holiday's up on the twenty-seventh.
OLIVIA: I know I'm being tiresome, but--
MRS. BRAMSON (_in the kitchen_): The most disgraceful thing I've
ever heard--
HUBERT: She's coming back....
OLIVIA _rises and goes to the right window_. HUBERT _hurries
into the sun-room._ MRS. BRAMSON _is wheeled back from the kitchen
by_ MRS. TERENCE, _to the centre of the room. She_ (MRS. BRAMSON)
_has found the pretext for the scene she has been longing to make since
she got up this morning._
MRS. BRAMSON: Fetch that girl here. This minute.
MRS. TERENCE: Oh, leave the child alone.
MRS. BRAMSON: Leave her alone, the little sneak-thief? Fetch her here.
MRS. TERENCE (_at the top of her voice_): Dora! (_Opening the
front door and calling into the trees_) Dora!
OLIVIA: What's Dora done now?
MRS. BRAMSON: Broken three of my Crown Derby, that's all. Thought if
she planted them in the rose-bed I wouldn't be well enough ever to see
them, I suppose. Well, I _have_ seen.
MRS. TERENCE (_crossing and calling to the bedroom_): You're
wanted.
DORA'S VOICE: What for?
MRS. TERENCE: She wants to kiss you good morning, what d'you think....
_She collects the table-cloth, fetches a vase from the mantelpiece,
and goes into the kitchen._ DORA _enters gingerly from the
bedroom, carrying a cup and saucer on a tray._
DORA: Did you want me, mum?
MRS. BRAMSON: Crown Derby to you, my girl.
DORA (_uncertain_): Beg pardon, mum?
MRS. BRAMSON: I suppose you think that china came from Marks and
Spencer?
DORA: Oh.... (_Snivelling_) Oh ... oh ...
OLIVIA (_coming between_ DORA _and_ MRS. BRAMSON): Come
along, Dora, it's not as bad as all that.
DORA: Oh, yes, it is.... Oh....
MRS. BRAMSON: You can leave, that's all. You can leave.
_Appalled,_ DORA _drops the tray and breaks the saucer._
That settles it. Now you'll _have_ to leave.
DORA (_with a cry_): Oh, please I ... (_Kneeling, and collecting
broken china_) Oh, ma'am--I'm not meself, you see.... (_Snivelling_)
I'm in a terrible trouble....
MRS. BRAMSON: Have you been stealing?
DORA (_shocked_): Oh, no!
OLIVIA (_after a pause_): Are you going to have a baby?
_After a pause, DORA nods._
DORA (_putting the china in her apron_): The idea of me
stealing.... I do go to Sunday school, anyways....
MRS. BRAMSON: So that's the game. Wouldn't think butter would melt in
her mouth.... You'll have to go, of course; I can't have that sort of
thing in this house--and stop squeaking! You'll bring my heart on
again. It's all this modern life. I've always said so. All these films
and rubbish.
OLIVIA: My dear auntie, you can't have a baby by just sitting in the
pictures.
MRS. BRAMSON: Go away, and don't interfere.
OLIVIA _goes to the left window_. DORA _rises.
(Triumphantly_) So you're going to have a child. When?
DORA (_sniffling_): Last August Bank Holiday....
MRS. BRAMSON: What?... Oh!
DORA: I 'aven't got a penny only what I earn--and if I lose my job
'ere--
MRS. BRAMSON: He'll have to marry you.
DORA: Oh, I don't think he's keen....
MRS. BRAMSON: I'll _make_ him keen. Who is the gentleman?
DORA: A boy I know; Dan his name is--'leas' 'e's not a gentleman. He's
a page-boy at the Tallboys.
MRS. BRAMSON: The Tallboys? D'you mean that new-fangled place all
awnings and loud speakers and things?
DORA: That's right. On the by-pass.
MRS. BRAMSON: Just the nice ripe sort of place for mischief, it always
looked to me. All those lanterns.... What's his character, the
good-for-nothing scoundrel?
DORA: Oh, he's nice, really. He done the wrong thing by me, but he's
all right, if you know what I mean....
MRS. BRAMSON: No, I don't. Where does he come from?
DORA: He's sort of Welsh, I think. 'E's been to sea, too. He's funny,
of course. Ever so open. Baby-face they call him. Though I never seem
to get 'old of what 'e's thinking, somehow--
MRS. BRAMSON: I'll get hold of what he's thinking, all right. I've had
my knife into that sort ever since I was a girl.
DORA: Oh, mum, if I got him to let you speak to him--d'you think I
could stay on?
MRS. BRAMSON (_after a pause): If_ he marries you at once.
DORA: Shall I--(_Eagerly_) As a matter of fact, ma'am, he's gone
on a message on his bicycle to Payley Hill this morning, and he said he
might pop in to see me on the way back--
MRS. BRAMSON: That's right; nothing like visitors to brighten your
mornings, eh? I'll deal with him.
DORA: Yes.... (_Going, and turning at the kitchen door--in impulsive
relief_) Oh, ma'am--
MRS. BRAMSON: And I'll stop the Crown Derby out of your wages.
DORA (_crestfallen_): Oh!
MRS. BRAMSON: What were you going to say?
DORA: Well, ma'am, I _was_ going to say I don't know how to thank
you for your generosity....
_She goes into the kitchen. The clock chimes_.
MRS. BRAMSON: Olivia!
OLIVIA: Yes, auntie?
MRS. BRAMSON: You've forgotten again. Medicine's overdue. Most
important.
OLIVIA _crosses to the medicine cupboard and fetches the
medicine._ MRS. TERENCE _comes in from the kitchen with a vase of
flowers and barges between the sofa and the wheelchair_.
MRS. TERENCE (_muttering_): All this furniture ...
MRS. BRAMSON (_to her_): Did _you_ know she's having a baby?
MRS. TERENCE (_coldly_): She did mention it in conversation.
MRS. BRAMSON: Playing with fire, that's the game nowadays.
MRS. TERENCE (_arranging flowers as_ OLIVIA _gives_ MRS.
BRAMSON _her medicine_): Playing with fiddlesticks. We're only
young once; that 'ot summer too. She's been a fool, but she's no
criminal. And, talking of criminals, there's a p'liceman at the kitchen
door.
MRS. BRAMSON: A what?
MRS. TERENCE: A p'liceman. A bobby.
MRS. BRAMSON: What does he want?
MRS. TERENCE: Better ask 'im. I know _my_ conscience is clear; I
don't know about other people's.
MRS. BRAMSON: But I've never had a policeman coming to see me before!
DORA _runs in from the kitchen_.
DORA (_terrified_): There's a man there! From the p'lice! 'E said
something about the Tallboys! 'E--'e 'asn't come about me, 'as 'e?
MRS. TERENCE: Of course he 'asn't--
MRS. BRAMSON: He may have.
MRS. TERENCE: Don't frighten the girl; she's simple enough now.
MRS. BRAMSON (_sharply_); It's against the law, what she's done,
isn't it? (_To_ DORA) Go back in there till he sends for you.
DORA _creeps back into the kitchen_.
OLIVIA (_at the left window_): He isn't a policeman, as a matter
of fact. He must be a plain-clothes man.
MRS. TERENCE (_sardonically_): Scotland Yard, I should think.
_BELSIZE is seen outside, crossing the left window to the front
door._
MRS. BRAMSON: That place in those detective books? Don't be so silly.
MRS. TERENCE: He says he wants to see you very particular--
_A sharp rat-tat at the front door.
(Going to the hall_) On a very particular matter.... (_Turning
on_ MRS. BRAMSON) And don't you start callin' _me_ silly!
_Going to the front door, and opening it._
This way, sir....
BELSIZE _enters, followed by_ MRS. TERENCE. _He is an entirely
inconspicuous man of fifty, dressed in tweeds: his suavity hides any
amount of strength._
BELSIZE: Mrs. Bramson? I'm sorry to break in on you like this. My card ....
MRS. BRAMSON (_taking it, sarcastically_): I suppose you're going
to tell me you're from Scotland Ya--(_She sees the name on the
card._)
BELSIZE: I see you've all your wits about you!
MRS. BRAMSON: Oh. (_Reading incredulously_) Criminal Investigation
Department!
BELSIZE (_smiling_): A purely informal visit, I assure you.
MRS. BRAMSON: I don't like having people in my house that I don't know.
BELSIZE (_the velvet glove_): I'm afraid the law sometimes makes
it necessary.
MRS. TERENCE _gives him a chair next the table. He sits_. MRS.
TERENCE _stands behind the table._
MRS. BRAMSON (_to her_): You can go.
MRS. TERENCE: I don't want to go. I might 'ave to be arrested for
stealing sugar.
BELSIZE: Sugar?... As a matter of fact, you might be useful. Any of you
may be useful. Mind my pipe?
_MRS. BRAMSON blows in disgust and waves her hand before her
face._
MRS. BRAMSON: Is it about my maid having an illegitimate child?
BELSIZE: I beg your pardon?... Oh no! That sort of thing's hardly in my
line, thank God ... Lonely spot ... (_To MRS. TERENCE_) Long way
for you to walk every day, isn't it?
MRS. TERENCE: I don't walk. I cycle.
BELSIZE: Oh.
MRS. BRAMSON: What's the matter?
BELSIZE: I just thought if she walked she might use some of the paths,
and have seen--something.
(Note: The following pair of lines are spoken simultaneously.)
MRS. BRAMSON: Something of what?
MRS. TERENCE: Something?
BELSIZE: I'll tell you. I--
_A piano is heard in the sun-room, playing the "Merry Widow" waltz.
(Casually_) Other people in the house?
MRS. BRAMSON (_calling shrilly_): Mr. Laurie!
_The piano stops._
HUBERT'S VOICE (_as the piano stops, in the sun-room_): Yes?
MRS. BRAMSON (_to OLIVIA, sourly_): Did you ask him to play the
piano?
_HUBERT comes back from the sun-room._
HUBERT (_breezily_): Hello, house on fire or something?
MRS. BRAMSON: Very nearly. This is Mr.--er--Bel--
BELSIZE: Belsize.
MRS. BRAMSON (_drily_): Of Scotland Yard.
HUBERT: Oh.... (_Apprehensive_) It isn't about my car, is it?
BELSIZE: No.
HUBERT: Oh. (_Shaking hands affably_) How do you do?
BELSIZE: How do you do, sir....
MRS. BRAMSON: He's a friend of Miss Grayne's here. Keeps calling.
BELSIZE: Been calling long?
MRS. BRAMSON: Every day for two weeks. Just before lunch.
HUBERT: Well--
OLIVIA (_sitting on the sofa_): Perhaps I'd better introduce
myself. I'm Olivia Grayne, Mrs. Bramson's niece. I work for her.
BELSIZE: Oh, I see. Thanks. Well now ...
HUBERT (_sitting at the table, effusively_): I know a chap on the
Stock Exchange who was taken last year and shown over the Black Museum
at Scotland Yard.
BELSIZE (_politely_): Really--
MRS. BRAMSON: And what d'you expect the policeman to do about it?
HUBERT: Well, it was very interesting, he said. Bit ghoulish, of
course--
BELSIZE: I expect so.... (_Getting down to business_) Now I wonder
if any of you've seen anything in the least out of the ordinary round
here lately? Anybody called--anybody strange wandering about in the
woods--overheard anything?
_They look at one another._
MRS. BRAMSON: The only visitor's been the doctor--and the district
nurse.
MRS. TERENCE: Been ever so gay.
HUBERT: As a matter of fact, funny thing did happen to me. Tuesday
afternoon it was, I remember now.
BELSIZE: Oh?
HUBERT (_graphically_): I was walking back to my cottage from
golf, and I heard something moving stealthily behind a tree, or a bush,
or something.
BELSIZE (_interested_): Oh, yes?
HUBERT: Turned out to be a squirrel.
MRS. BRAMSON (_in disgust_): Oh!...
HUBERT: No bigger than my hand! Funny thing to happen, I thought.
BELSIZE: Very funny. Anything else?
HUBERT: Not a thing. By Jove, fancy walking in the woods and stumbling
over a dead body! Most embarrassing!
MRS. TERENCE: I've stumbled over bodies in them woods afore now. But
they wasn't dead. Oh, no.
MRS. BRAMSON: Say what you know, and don't talk so much.
MRS. TERENCE: Well, I've told 'im all I've seen. A bit o' love now and
again. Though 'ow they make do with all them pine-needles beats me.
BELSIZE: Anything else?
MRS. BRAMSON: Miss Grayne's always moping round the woods. Perhaps
_she_ can tell you something.
OLIVIA: I haven't seen anything, I'm afraid.... Oh--I saw some men
beating the undergrowth--
BELSIZE: Yes, I'm coming to that. But no tramps, for instance?
OLIVIA: N-no, I don't think so.
HUBERT: "Always carry a stick's" my motto. I'd like to see a tramp try
anything on with me. Ah-ha! Swish!
MRS. BRAMSON: What's all the fuss about? Has there been a robbery or
something?
BELSIZE: There's a lady missing.
MRS. TERENCE: Where from?
BELSIZE: The Tallboys.
MRS. BRAMSON: That Tallboys again--
BELSIZE: A Mrs. Chalfont.
MRS. TERENCE: Chalfont? Oh, yes! Dyed platinum blonde--widow of a
colonel, so she says, livin' alone, so she says, always wearin' them
faldalaldy openwork stockings. Fond of a drop too. That's 'er.
HUBERT: Why, d'you know her?
MRS. TERENCE: Never set eyes on 'er. But you know how people talk.
Partial to that there, too, I'm told.
MRS. BRAMSON: What's that there?
MRS. TERENCE: Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies.
BELSIZE (_quickly_): Well, anyway ... Mrs. Chalfont left the
Tallboys last Friday afternoon, without a hat, went for a walk through
the woods in this direction, and has never been seen since.
_He makes his effect_.
MRS. BRAMSON: I expect she was so drunk she fell flat and never came
to.
BELSIZE: We've had the woods pretty well thrashed. (_To OLIVIA_)
Those would be the men you saw. Now she was ... HUBERT (_taking the
floor_): She may have had a brain-storm, you know, and taken a train
somewhere. That's not uncommon, you know, among people of her sort.
(_Airing knowledge_) And if what we gather from our friend here's
true--and she's both a dipsomaniac _and_ a nymphomaniac--
MRS. BRAMSON: Hark at the walking dictionary!
BELSIZE: We found her bag in her room; and maniacs can't get far
without cash ... however dipso or nympho they may be....
HUBERT: Oh.
BELSIZE: She was a very flashy type of wo--she _is_ a flashy type,
I should say. At least I hope I should say ...
MRS. BRAMSON: What d'you mean? Why d'you hope?
BELSIZE: Well ...
OLIVIA: You don't mean she may be ... she mayn't be alive?
BELSIZE: It's possible.
MRS. BRAMSON: You'll be saying she's been murdered next!
BELSIZE: That's been known.
MRS. BRAMSON: Lot of stuff and nonsense. From a policeman too.
Anybody'd think you'd been brought up on penny dreadfuls.
OLIVIA _turns and goes to the window._
BELSIZE (_to_ MRS. BRAMSON): Did you see about the fellow being
hanged for the Ipswich murder? In last night's papers?
MRS. BRAMSON: I've lived long enough not to believe the papers.
BELSIZE: They occasionally print facts. And murder's occasionally a
fact.
HUBERT: Everybody likes a good murder, as the saying goes! Remember
those trials in the _Evening Standard_ last year? Jolly interesting.
I followed--
BELSIZE (_rising_): I'd be very grateful if you'd all keep your
eyes and ears open, just in case ... (_Shaking hands_) Good
morning ... good morning ... good morning, Mrs. Bramson. I must
apologise again for intruding--
_He turns to_ OLIVIA, _who is still looking out of the
window._
Good morning, Miss ... er ...
_A pause._
OLIVIA (_starting_): I'm so sorry.
BELSIZE: Had you remembered something? OLIVIA: Oh, no....
MRS. BRAMSON: What were you thinking, then?
OLIVIA: Only how ... strange it is.
BELSIZE: What?
OLIVIA: Well, here we all are, perfectly ordinary English people. We
woke up ... no, it's silly.
MRS. BRAMSON: Of course it's silly.
BELSIZE (_giving_ MRS. BRAMSON _an impatient look_): No, go
on. OLIVIA: Well, we woke up this morning, thinking, "Here's another
day." We got up, looked at the weather, and talked; and here we all
are, still talking.... And all that time----
MRS. BRAMSON: My dear girl, who are you to expect a policeman----
BELSIZE (_quelling her sternly_): If you please! I want to hear
what she's got to say. (_To_ OLIVIA) Well?
OLIVIA: All that time ... there may be something ... lying in the
woods. Hidden under a bush, with two feet just showing. Perhaps one
high heel catching the sunlight, with a bird perched on the end of it;
and the other--a stockinged foot, with blood ... that's dried into the
openwork stocking. And there's a man walking about somewhere, and
talking, like us; and he woke up this morning, and looked at the
weather. ... And he killed her.... (_Smiling, looking out of the
window_) The cat doesn't believe a word of it, anyhow. It's just
walking away.
MRS. BRAMSON: Well!
MRS. TERENCE: Ooh, Miss Grayne, you give me the creeps! I'm glad it is
morning, that's all I can say....
BELSIZE: I don't think the lady can quite describe _herself_ as
ordinary, after that little flight of fancy!
MRS. BRAMSON: Oh, that's nothing; she writes poetry. Jingle jingle--
BELSIZE: I can only hope she's wrong, or it'll mean a nice job of work
for us! ... Well, if anything funny happens, nip along to Shepperley
police station. Pity you're not on the 'phone. Good morning.... Good
morning....
MRS. TERENCE: This way....
_She follows_ BELSIZE _into the hall_.
BELSIZE: No, don't bother.... Good morning.
_He goes out._ MRS. TERENCE _shuts the door after him_.
MRS. BRAMSON (_to_ HUBERT): What are _you_ staring at?
HUBERT (_crossing to the fireplace_): Funny, I can't get out of my
mind what Olivia said about the man being somewhere who's done it.
MRS. TERENCE (_coming into the room_): Why, Mr. Laurie, it might
be you! After all, there's nothing in your face that _proves_ it
isn't!
HUBERT: Oh, come, come! You're being a bit hard on the old countenance,
aren't you?
MRS. TERENCE: Well, 'e's not going to walk about with bloodshot eyes
and a snarl all over his face, is he?
_She goes into the kitchen._
HUBERT: That's true enough.
MRS. BRAMSON: Missing woman indeed! She's more likely than not at this
very moment sitting in some saloon bar. Or the films, I shouldn't
wonder. (_To_ OLIVIA) pass me my wool, will you....
OLIVIA _crosses to the desk. A knock at the kitchen door_: DORA
_appears, cautiously._
DORA: _Was_ it about me?
OLIVIA: Of course it wasn't.
DORA (_relieved_): Oh.... Please, mum, 'e's 'ere.
MRS. BRAMSON: Who?
DORA: My boy fr--my gentleman friend, ma'am, from the Tallboys.
MRS. BRAMSON: I'm ready for him. (_Waving aside the wool which_
OLIVIA _brings to her_) The sooner he's made to realise what his
duty _is_, the better. _I_'ll give him baby-face!
DORA: Thank you, ma'am.
_She goes out through the front door._
HUBERT: What gentleman? What duty?
OLIVIA: The maid's going to have a baby. (_She crosses and puts the
wool in the cupboard of the desk._)
HUBERT: Is she, by Jove!... Don't look at me like that, Mrs. Bramson!
I've only been in the county two weeks.... But is _he_ from the
Tallboys?
MRS. BRAMSON: A page-boy or something of the sort.
DORA _comes back to the front door, looks back, and beckons. She is
followed by_ DAN, _who saunters past her into the room. He is a
young fellow wearing a blue pill-box hat, uniform trousers, a jacket
too small for him, and bicycle-clips: the stub of a cigarette dangles
between his lips. He speaks with a rough accent, indeterminate, but
more Welsh than anything else.
His personality varies very considerably as the play proceeds: the
impression he gives at the moment is one of totally disarming good
humour and childlike unself-consciousness. It would need a very close
observer to suspect that there is something wrong somewhere--that this
personality is completely assumed._ DORA _shuts the front door and
comes to the back of the sofa._
MRS. BRAMSON (_sternly_): Well?
DAN (_saluting_): Mornin', all!
MRS. BRAMSON: So you're Baby-face?
DAN: That's me. (_Grinning._) Silly name, isn't it? (_After a
pause._) I must apologise to all and sundry for this fancy dress,
but it's my working togs. I been on duty this mornin', and my hands
isn't very clean. You see, I didn't know as it was going to be a party.
MRS. BRAMSON: Party?
DAN (_looking at_ OLIVIA): Well, it's ladies, isn't it?
HUBERT: Are you shy with ladies?
DAN (_smiling at_ OLIVIA): Oh, yes.
OLIVIA _moves away coldly._ DAN _turns to_ MRS. BRAMSON.
MRS. BRAMSON (_cutting_): You smoke, I see.
DAN: Yes. (_Taking the stub out of his mouth with alacrity and taking
off his hat_) Oh, I'm sorry. I always forget my manners with a
cigarette when I'm in company.... (_Pushing the stub behind his ear,
as_ OLIVIA _crosses to the armchair_) I always been clumsy in
people's houses. I am sorry.
MRS. BRAMSON: You know my maid, Dora Parkoe, I believe?
DAN: Well, we have met, yes ... (_with a grin at_ DORA).
MRS. BRAMSON (_to_ DORA): Go away!
DORA _creeps back into the kitchen_.
You walked out with her last August Bank Holiday?
DAN: Yes.... Excuse me smiling, but it sounds funny when you put it
like that, doesn't it?
MRS. BRAMSON: You ought to be ashamed of yourself.
DAN (_soberly_): Oh, I am.
MRS. BRAMSON: How did it happen?
DAN (_embarrassed_): Well ... we went ... did _you_ have a
nice bank holiday?
MRS. BRAMSON: Answer my question!
HUBERT: Were you in love with the wench?
DAN: Oh, yes!
MRS. BRAMSON (_triumphantly_): When did you first meet her?
DAN: Er--bank holiday morning.
MRS. BRAMSON: Picked her up, I suppose?
DAN: Oh, no, I didn't pick her up! I asked her for a match, and then I
took her for a bit of a walk, to take her mind off her work--
HUBERT: You seem to have succeeded.
DAN (_smiling at him, then catching_ MRS. BRAMSON's _eye_):
I've thought about it a good bit since, I can tell you. Though it's a
bit awkward talking about it in front of strangers; though you all look
very nice people; but it is a _bit_ awkward--
HUBERT: I should jolly well think it is awkward for a chap! Though of
course, never having been in the same jam myself--
MRS. BRAMSON: I haven't finished with him yet.
HUBERT: In that case I'm going for my stroll ...
_He makes for the door to the hall._
OLIVIA: You work at the Tallboys, don't you?
DAN: Yes, miss. (_Grinning_) Twenty-four hours a day, miss.
HUBERT (_coming to_ DAN'S _left_): Then perhaps you can tell
us something about the female who's been murdered?--
_An unaccountable pause_. DAN _looks slowly from_ OLIVIA
_to_ HUBERT, _and back again_.
Well, can you tell us? You know there was a Mrs. Chalfont staying at
the Tallboys who went off one day?
DAN: Yes.
HUBERT: And nobody's seen her since?
DAN: I know.
MRS. BRAMSON: What's she like?
DAN (_to_ MRS. BRAMSON): But I thought you said--or somebody
said--something about--a murder?
HUBERT: Oh, we don't_know_, of course, but there _might_ have
been, mightn't there?
DAN (_suddenly effusive_): Yes, there might have been, yes!
HUBERT: Ever seen her?
DAN: Oh, yes. I used to take cigarettes an' drinks for her.
MRS. BRAMSON (_impatiently_): What's she _like_?
DAN: What's she like?... (_To_ MRS. BRAMSON)--She's ... on the
tall side. Thin ankles, with one o' them bracelets on one of 'em.
(_Looking at_ OLIVIA) Fair hair--
_A sudden thought seems to arrest him. He goes on looking at_
OLIVIA.
MRS. BRAMSON: Well? Go on!
DAN (_after a pause, in a level voice_): Thin eyebrows, with white
marks, where they was pulled out ... to be in the fashion, you know....
Her mouth ... a bit thin as well, with red stuff painted round it, to
make it look more; you can rub it off ... I suppose. Her neck ...
rather thick. Laughs a bit loud; and then it stops. (_After a
pause_) She's ... very lively. (_With a quick smile that dispels
the atmosphere he has unaccountably created_) You can't say I don't
keep my eyes skinned, can you?
HUBERT: I should say you do! A living portrait, if ever there was one,
what? Now--
MRS. BRAMSON (_pointedly_): Weren't you going for a walk?
HUBERT: So I was, by Jove! Well, I'll charge off. Bye-bye.
_He goes out of the front door_.
OLIVIA (_her manner faintly hostile_): You're very observant.
DAN: Well, the ladies, you know ...
MRS. BRAMSON: If he weren't so observant, that Dora mightn't be in the
flummox she is now.
DAN (_cheerfully_): That's true, ma'am.
OLIVIA (_rising_): You don't sound very repentant.
DAN (_as she crosses, stiffly_): Well, what's done's done's my
motto, isn't it?
_She goes into the sun-room. He makes a grimace after her and holds
his left hand out, the thumb pointing downwards_.
MRS. BRAMSON: And what does that mean?
DAN: She's a nice bit of ice for next summer, isn't she?
MRS. BRAMSON: You're a proper one to talk about next summer, when Dora
there'll be up hill and down dale with a perambulator. Now look here,
young man, immorality--
MRS. TERENCE _comes in from the kitchen_.
MRS. TERENCE: The butcher wants paying. And 'e says there's men
ferreting at the bottom of the garden looking for that Mrs. Chalfont
and do you know about it.
MRS. BRAMSON (_furious_): Well, they won't ferret long, not among
my pampas grass!... (_Calling_) Olivia!... Oh, that girl's never
there. (_Wheeling herself furiously towards the kitchen as_ MRS.
TERENCE _makes a move to help her_) Leave me alone. I don't want
to be pushed into the nettles to-day, thank you ... (_Shouting loudly
as she disappears into the kitchen_) Come out of my garden, you!
Come out!
MRS. TERENCE (_looking towards the kitchen as_ DAN _takes the
stub from behind his ear and lights it_): Won't let me pay the
butcher, so I won't know where she keeps 'er purse; but I do know, so
put that in your pipe and smoke it!
DAN (_going to her and jabbing her playfully in the arm_): They
say down at the Tallboys she's got enough inside of 'er purse, too.
MRS. TERENCE: Well, nobody's seen it open. If you 'ave a peep inside,
young fellow, you'll go down in 'istory, that's what you'll do ...
(_Dan salutes her. She sniffs_) Something's boiling over.
_She rushes back into the kitchen as_ OLIVIA _comes back from
the sun-room_.
OLIVIA: Did Mrs. Bramson call me, do you know?
_A pause. He surveys her from under drooping lids, rolling his
cigarette on his lower lip_.
DAN: I'm sorry, I don't know your name.
OLIVIA: Oh....
_She senses his insolence, goes self-consciously to the desk and
takes out the wool_.
DAN: Not much doin' round here for a girl, is there?
_No answer_.
It is not a very entertaining quarter of the world for a young lady, is
it?
_He gives it up as a bad job_. DORA _comes in from the
kitchen_.
DORA (_eagerly_): What did she ... (_confused, seeing_
OLIVIA) Oh, beg pardon, miss....
_She hurries back into the kitchen_. DAN _jerks head after her
with a laugh and looks at_ OLIVIA.
OLIVIA (_arranging wool at the table_): I'm not a snob, but, in
case you ever call here again, I'd like to point out that though I'm
employed by my aunt, I'm not quite in Dora's position.
DAN: Oh, I hope not ... (_She turns away, confused. He moves to
her._) Though I'll be putting it all right for Dora. I'm going to
marry her. And--
OLIVIA (_coldly_): I don't believe you.
DAN (_after a pause_): You don't like me, do you?
OLIVIA: No.
DAN (_with a smile_): Well, everybody else does!
OLIVIA (_absorbed in her wool-sorting_): Your eyes are set quite
wide apart, your hands are quite good ... I don't really know what's
wrong with you.
DAN _looks at his outspread hands. A pause. He breaks it, and goes
nearer to her_.
DAN (_persuasively_): You know, I've been looking at you too.
You're lonely, aren't you? I could see--
OLIVIA: I'm sorry, it's a waste of time doing your stuff with me. I'm
not the type. (_Crossing to the desk and turning suddenly to him_)
Are you playing up to Mrs. Bramson?
DAN: Playin' up?
OLIVIA: It crossed my mind for a minute. You stand a pretty poor chance
there, you know.
DAN (_after a pause, smiling_): What d'you bet me?
OLIVIA _turns from him, annoyed, and puts the wool away_.
MRS. BRAMSON _careers in from the kitchen in her chair_.
MRS. BRAMSON: They say they've got permits to look for that silly
woman--who are _they_, I'd like to know? If there's anything I
hate, it's these men who think they've got authority.
OLIVIA: I don't think they're quite as bad as men who think they've got
charm.
_She goes back into the sun-room_. DAN _whistles_.
MRS. BRAMSON: What did she mean by that?
DAN: Well, it's no good her thinkin' _she's_ got any, is it?
MRS. BRAMSON (_sternly_). Now, young man, what about Dora? I--
DAN: Wait a minute ... (_Putting his hat on the table and going to
her_) Are you sure you're comfortable like that? Don't you think,
Mrs. Bramson, you ought to be facin' ... a wee bit more this side,
towards the sun more, eh? (_He moves her chair round till she is in
the centre of the room, facing the sun-room_) You're looking pale,
you know. (_As she stares at him, putting the stub in an ashtray on
the table_) I am sorry. Excuse rudeness ... Another thing, Mrs.
Bramson--you don't mind me sayin' it, do you?--but you ought to have a
rug, you know. This October weather's very treacherous.
MRS. BRAMSON (_blinking_): Pale? Did you say pale?
DAN: Washed out. (_His wiles fully turned on, but not overdone in the
slightest_) The minute I saw you just now, I said to myself, now
there's a lady that's got a lot to contend with.
MRS. BRAMSON: Oh ... Well, I have. Nobody knows it better than me.
DAN: No, I'm sure ... Oh, it must be terrible to watch everybody else
striding up and down enjoying everything, and to see everybody tasting
the fruit--
_As she looks at him, appreciation of what he is saying grows visibly
in her face_.
I'm sorry ... (_Diffidently_) I didn't ha' ought to say that.
MRS. BRAMSON: But it's true! As true as you are my witness, and nobody
else--(_Pulling herself together_) Now look here, about that girl--
DAN: Excuse me a minute.... (_Examining her throat, like a
doctor_) Would you mind sayin' something?
MRS. BRAMSON (_taken aback_): What d'you want me to say?
DAN: Yes ...
MRS. BRAMSON: Yes. What?
DAN: There's a funny twitching in your neck when you talk--very slight,
of course--nerves, I expect--But I hope your doctor knows all about it
... D'you mind if I ask what your ailments are?
MRS. BRAMSON: ... Hadn't you better sit down?
DAN (_sitting_): Thank you.
MRS. BRAMSON: Well, I have the most terrible palpitations. I--
DAN: Palpitations! (_Whistling_.) But the way you get about!
MRS. BRAMSON: Oh?
DAN: It's a pretty bad thing to have, you know. D'you know that nine
women out of ten in your position'd be just sittin' down givin' way?
MRS. BRAMSON: Would they?
DAN: Yes, they would! I do know, as a matter of fact. I've known
people with palpitations. Somebody very close to me ... (_After a
pause, soberly_) They're dead now ...
MRS. BRAMSON (_startled_): Oh!
DAN: My mother, as a matter of fact ...
_With finely controlled emotion, practically indistinguishable from
the real thing_.
I can just remember her.
MRS. BRAMSON: Oh?
DAN: She died when I was six. I know that, because my dad died two
years before that.
MRS. BRAMSON (_vaguely_): Oh.
DAN (_studying her_): As a matter o' fact--
MRS. BRAMSON: Yes?
DAN: Oh, no, it's a daft thing--
MRS. BRAMSON (_the old tart note creeping back_): Come along now!
Out with it!
DAN: It's only fancy, I suppose ... but ... you remind me a bit of her.
MRS. BRAMSON: Of your mother? (_As he nods simply, her sentimentality
stirring_) Oh ...
DAN: Have you got a son?
MRS. BRAMSON (_self-pityingly_): I haven't anybody at all.
DAN: Oh ... But I don't like to talk too much about my mother.
(_Putting a finger unobtrusively to his eye_) Makes me feel ...
sort of sad ... (_With a sudden thought_) She had the same eyes
very wide apart as you, and--and the same very good hands.
MRS. BRAMSON (_looking interestedly at her fingers_): Oh?... And
the same palpitations?
DAN: And the same palpitations. You don't mind me talking about your
health, do you?
MRS. BRAMSON: No.
DAN: Well, d'you know, you ought to get used to letting _other_
people do things for you.
MRS. BRAMSON (_a great truth dawning on her_): Yes!
DAN: You ought to be very careful.
MRS. BRAMSON: Yes! (_After a pause, eyeing him as he smiles at
her_) You're a funny boy to be a page-boy.
DAN (_shyly_): D'you think so?
MRS. BRAMSON: Well, now I come to talk to you, you seem so much better
class--I mean, you know so much of the world--
DAN: I've knocked about a good bit, you know. Never had any advantages,
but I always tried to do the right thing.
MRS. BRAMSON (_patronisingly_): I think you deserve better--
(_sharply again_) Talking of the right thing, what about Dora?
DAN (_disarming_): Oh, I know I'm to blame; I'm not much of a
chap, but I'd put things straight like a shot if I had any money ...
But, you see, I work at the Tallboys, get thirty bob a week, with
tips--but listen to me botherin' you with my worries and rubbish the
state you're in ... well!
MRS. BRAMSON: No, I can stand it.
OLIVIA _comes back from the sun-room_.
(_Pursing her lips, reflectively_) I've taken a liking to you.
DAN: Well ... (_looking round at OLIVIA_) That's very kind of
you, Mrs. Bramson ...
MRS. BRAMSON: It's the way you talked about your mother. That's what
it was.
DAN: Was it?
OLIVIA (_at the left window_): Shall I pack these books?
DAN (_going to her with alacrity, taking the parcel from her_):
I'll post them for you.
OLIVIA: Oh ...
DAN: I'm passing Shepperley post office on the bike before post time
to-morrow morning. With pleasure!
MRS. BRAMSON: Have you got to go back?
DAN: Now? Well, no, not really ... I've finished on duty now I done
that errand, and this is my half day.
MRS. BRAMSON (_imperiously_): Stay to lunch.
DAN (_apparently taken aback, after a look at_ OLIVIA): Well--I
don't like to impose myself--
MRS. BRAMSON: In the kitchen, of course.
DAN: Oh, I know--
MRS. BRAMSON: There's plenty of food! Stay to lunch!
DAN: Well--I don't know ... all right, so long as you let me help a bit
this morning ... Don't you want some string for this? Where's it kep'?
MRS. BRAMSON: That woman knows. In the kitchen somewhere.
DAN: Through here?
_He tosses the books on the sofa and hurries into the kitchen_.
MRS. BRAMSON _holds out her hands and studies them with a new
interest_.
MRS. BRAMSON: That boy's got understanding.
OLIVIA: Enough to marry Dora?
MRS. BRAMSON: You ought to learn to be a little less bitter, my dear.
Never hook a man if you don't. With him and that Dora, I'm not so sure
it wasn't six of one and half a dozen of the other. I know human
nature, and, mark my word, that boy's going to do big things.
_A scurry in the garden_. MRS. TERENCE _rushes in from the front
door, madly excited_.
MRS. TERENCE: The paper-boy's at the back gate, and says there's a
placard in Shepperley, and it's got "News of the World--Shepperley
Mystery" on it!
MRS. BRAMSON: What!
OLIVIA: They've got it in the papers!
MRS. TERENCE: They've got it in the papers! D'ye want any? (_Beside
herself_.)
MRS. BRAMSON: Catch him quick!
MRS. TERENCE: First time I ever 'eard of Shepperley being in print
before--hi!
_She races out of the front door_.
MRS. BRAMSON: Running around the house shouting like a lunatic!
Sensation mad! Silly woman!
DORA _runs in from kitchen_.
DORA: They've got it in the papers!
MRS. BRAMSON: Go away!
MRS. TERENCE (_off_): I've bought three!
MRS. BRAMSON (_shouting_): Be QUIET!
MRS. TERENCE _runs back with three Sunday newspapers and gives one
to_ OLIVIA _and one to_ MRS. BRAMSON.
OLIVIA (_sitting left of the table_): I expect it is a bit of an
event.
MRS. TERENCE (_leaning over the table, searching in her paper_):
'E says they're sellin' like ninepins--
MRS. BRAMSON (_turning pages over, impatiently_): Where is it?...
MRS. TERENCE: Oh, I expect it's nothing after all....
OLIVIA: Here it is.... (_Reading_) "Disappeared mysteriously ...
woods round the village being searched" ... then her description ...
tall ... blonde....
MRS. TERENCE: Blonde? I should think she is ... I can't find it!
OLIVIA: Here's something ... "A keeper in the Shepperley woods was
closely questioned late last night, but he had heard nothing, beyond a
woman's voice in the woods on the afternoon in question, and a man's
voice, probably with her, singing 'Mighty Lak a Rose.' Enquiries are
being pursued...."
MRS. BRAMSON: "Mighty Lak a Rose." What rubbish!...
MRS. TERENCE: Oh yes.... It's the 'eadline in this one. (_Humming the
tune absently as she reads_) "Don't know what to call you, but
you're mighty lak a rose." ... Those men have done rummaging in the
garden, anyway.
MRS. BRAMSON: I must go this minute and have a look at my pampas grass.
And if they've damaged it I'll bring an action.
MRS. TERENCE: Fancy Shepperley bein' in print.
MRS. BRAMSON: Wheel me out, and don't talk so much.
MRS. TERENCE (_manoeuvring her through the front door_): I could
talk me 'ead off and not talk as much as some people I could mention.
OLIVIA _is alone. A pause. She spreads her paper on the table and
finds_ DAN'S _hat under it. She picks it up and looks at it_;
DAN _comes in from the kitchen with a ball of tangled string, a
cigarette between his lips. He is about to take the books into the
kitchen, when he sees her. He crosses to her_.
DAN: Excuse me ... (_Taking the hat from her, cheerfully_) I think
I'll hang it in the hall, same as if I was a visitor ...
_He does so, then takes up the book, sits on the sofa, and begins to
unravel the string. A pause_.
You don't mind me stayin' and havin' a bit o' lunch ... in the kitchen,
do you?
OLIVIA: It's not for me to say. As I told you before, I'm really a
servant here.
DAN (_after a pause_): You're not a very ordinary servant,
though, are you?
OLIVIA (_turning over a page_): N-no ...
DAN: Neither am I.
_He unpicks a knot, and begins to hum absentmindedly. The humming
gradually resolves itself into faint singing._
(_Singing_) "I'm a pretty little feller ... everybody knows ..."
OLIVIA _looks up; a thought crosses her mind. She turns her head and
looks at him.
The Curtain begins to fall slowly.
(Singing, as he intently unravels the string_)
"Don't know what to call me--but I'm mighty lak a rose...."
THE CURTAIN IS DOWN
ACT II
SCENE I
_An afternoon twelve days later. The weather is a little duller._
MRS. BRAMSON _is sitting on the right of the table in her invalid
chair, puzzling out a game of patience. She has smartened up her
appearance in the interval and is wearing purple, and earrings._
OLIVIA _is sitting opposite her, smoking a cigarette, a pencil and
pad on the table in front of her; she is pondering and writing. A
portable gramophone on a small table next the desk is playing the
H.M.V. dance record of "Dames."
A pause_. MRS. BRAMSON _coughs. She coughs again, and looks at_
OLIVIA, _waving her hand before her, clearing away billows of
imaginary smoke_.
OLIVIA: I'm sorry. Is my cigarette worrying you?
MRS. BRAMSON (_temper_): Not at all. I like it!
OLIVIA _stubs out her cigarette with a resigned look and goes on
making notes_. DAN _enters from the kitchen, keeping time to the
music, carrying a bunch of roses, wearing overalls over flannel
trousers and a brown golf jacket, and smoking. He goes to the fireplace
and clumps the roses into a vase on the mantelpiece, humming the tune.
He crosses to the gramophone, still in rhythm,_ MRS. BRAMSON
_keeping time skittishly with her hands. He turns off the gramophone
and looks over_ OLIVIA'S _shoulder at what she is writing._
DAN (_singing_): "Their home addresses ... and their caresses ...
linger in my memory of ... those beautiful dames" ... (_His hand to
his forehead_) That's me!
OLIVIA _looks at him coldly and continues her notes._
MRS. BRAMSON: It won't come out....
DAN _shrugs his shoulders, stands behind_ MRS. BRAMSON'S _chair,
and studies her play._ OLIVIA _follows his example from her
side._
OLIVIA (_pointing to two cards_): Look.
MRS. BRAMSON (_infuriated_): I saw that! Leave me alone, and
don't interfere.
_A pause._ DAN _makes a quick movement and puts one card on
another.
(Pleased and interested, quite unconscious to the difference in her
attitude_) Oh, yes, dear, of course....
OLIVIA (_as_ MRS. BRAMSON _makes a move_): No, that's a
spade.
MRS. BRAMSON (_sharply_): No such thing; it's a club. It's got a
wiggle on it.
DAN: They both got wiggles on 'em. (_Pointing to another card_)
This is a club.
MRS. BRAMSON: Oh yes, dear, so it is! OLIVIA (_writing_): The
ironmonger says there _were_ two extra gallons of paraffin not
paid for.
MRS. BRAMSON: And they _won't_ be paid for either--not if I have
to go to law about it.
_A pause. She coughs absently_.
DAN: I'm sorry. Is my cigarette worrying you?
MRS. BRAMSON: No, no, dear.
_This has its effect on_ OLIVIA. DAN _sits on the left of the
table, where "East Lynne" is open on the table_.
I'm sick of patience.
DAN (_reading laboriously_): "You old-fashioned child--"
MRS. BRAMSON: What?
DAN: _East Lynne_.
MRS. BRAMSON: Oh....
DAN (_reading_): "'You old-fashioned child!' retorted Mrs. Vane.
'Why did you not put on your diamonds?' 'I-did-put on my diamonds,'
stammered Lady Isabel. 'But I--took them off again.' 'What on earth
for?'" That's the other lady speaking there--
MRS. BRAMSON: Yes, dear....
DAN: "'What on earth for?' ... 'I did not like to be too fine,'
answered Lady Isabel, with a laugh--" (_turning over_) "--and a
blush. 'They glittered so! I feared it might be thought I had put them
on to look fine.'"
MRS. BRAMSON (_absently_): Good, isn't it?
DAN (_flicking ash_): Oh, yes, reelistic.... (_Reading_) "'I
see you mean to set up among that class of people who pree-tend to
dee-spise ornyment,' scornfully ree-marked Mrs. Vane. 'It is the
ree-finement of aff-affectation, Lady Isabel----'"
_An excited knock at the kitchen door._ DORA _enters._ DAN
_turns back the page and surveys what he has been reading, scratching
his head._
MRS. BRAMSON (_the old edge to her voice_): What is it?
DORA: Them men's in the wood again.
MRS. BRAMSON: What men?
DORA: The men lookin' for that Mrs. Chalfont.
_A pause._ DAN _hums "Dames" under his breath._
MRS. BRAMSON: You don't mean to tell me they're still at it? But
they've been pottering about since ... when was that day Mr. Dan left
the Tallboys?
DORA (_stressing a little bitterly_): _Mister_ Dan?
DAN (_smiling_): Ahem!...
DORA: _Mister_ Dan first came to work for you, mum, a week last
Monday....
MRS. BRAMSON: Well, I think it's a disgrace----
DORA: _I_'ve found something!
DAN'S _humming stops abruptly; he swivels round and looks at_
DORA, _his face unseen by the audience._ OLIVIA _and_ MRS.
BRAMSON _stare at_ DORA; _a pause._
MRS. BRAMSON: _You've_ found something?
OLIVIA: What?
DORA (_excited_): This!
_She holds out her left arm and lets jail from her fist the length of
a soiled belt. A pause._ OLIVIA _puts down her pencil and pad,
goes to her, and looks at the belt._
OLIVIA: Yes, of course, it's mine! I missed it last week....
MRS. BRAMSON (_baulked of excitement_): Oh yes, I thought I
recognised it.... What nonsense!...
DAN _looks at her; chuckling._
DORA (_going, dolefully_): I'm ever so disappointed....
_She goes into the kitchen._ OLIVIA _goes to the armchair by the
fireplace._
MRS. BRAMSON: She'll be joining Scotland Yard next.... Go on, dear.
DAN (_reading_): "'It is the ree-finement of affectation, Lady
Isabel----'"
_The clock chimes.
(Clapping his hands, to_ MRS. BRAMSON) Ah!
MRS. BRAMSON (_pleased_): Oh, Danny ...
_He hurries to the medicine cupboard and pours medicine into a
spoon._ HUBERT _comes in from the front door._
HUBERT (_eagerly_): Have you heard?
MRS. BRAMSON (_eagerly_): What?
HUBERT: Dora's found a belt!
MRS. BRAMSON (_disappointed again_): Oh ... it was Olivia's.
HUBERT: I say, what a shame!...
MRS. BRAMSON: Tch, tch!... All this sensation-mong----
DAN _drowns her speech by deftly pouring the spoonful of medicine
down her throat. He pushes her chocolate-box towards her, and strides
briskly into the hall._
Horrid....
DAN (_taking a soft hat from the rack and putting it on_): Good
for you, though, the way you are....
MRS. BRAMSON: Yes, dear.
DAN (_coming into the room, and beginning to take off his
overalls_): And now it's time for your walk.... (_Smiling at_
OLIVIA) It's all right, I got trousers on.... (_Peeling the overalls
over his feet, and tossing them on to the left window-seat_) Listen
to me talking about your walk, when you'll be in a chair all the
time.... (_Chuckling, to_ HUBERT) That's funny, isn't it!...
(_Going to_ MRS. BRAMSON) Come on, I got your shawl and your rug
in the hall....
MRS. BRAMSON (_as he wheels her into the hall_): Have you got my
pills?
DAN: I got them in my pocket.
MRS. BRAMSON: And my chocolates?
DAN: I got them in my pocket too. Here's your hat--better put it on
yourself.
MRS. BRAMSON: Yes, dear.
DAN: And here's your shawl.
MRS. BRAMSON: It isn't a shawl, it's a cape.
DAN: Well, I don't know, do I? And I carry your rug on my shoulder....
(_To the others_) See you later! Be good!
_Shutting the front door, his voice dying as the chair passes the
left window._
Down this way to-day....
_A pause. HUBERT and OLIVIA look at each other._
OLIVIA (_suddenly_): What do _you_ think of him?
HUBERT (_a little taken aback_): Him? Grannie's white-headed boy,
you mean? Oh, he's all right. (_Heavily_.) A bit slow on the
uptake, of course. I wish he'd occasionally take that fag-end out of
his mouth.
OLIVIA: He does. For _her_.
HUBERT: That's true. That's why he's made such a hit with her. Funny I
haven't been able to manage it. In two weeks, too ... it's uncanny.
OLIVIA: Uncanny?... I think it's clever.
HUBERT: You don't think he's a wrong 'un, do you?
OLIVIA: What do we know about him?
HUBERT: Why ... his Christian name?
OLIVIA: And that's all.
HUBERT: He looks pretty honest.
OLIVIA: Looks? (_After a pause_.) It's rather frightening to think
what a face can hide.... I sometimes catch sight of one looking at me.
Careful lips, and blank eyes.... And then I find I'm staring at myself
in the glass ... and I realise how successfully I'm hiding the thoughts
I know so well ... and then I know we're all ... strangers. Windows,
with blinds, and behind them ... secrets. What's behind _his_
eyes? (_After a pause, with a smile_) You're quite right, it
_is_ morbid.
HUBERT: D'you think he's a thief or something? By Jove, I left my links
on the washstand before lunch!
OLIVIA: He's acting ... every minute of the time. I know he is! But
he's acting pretty well, because I don't know _how_ I know....
He's walking about here all day, and talking a little, and smiling, and
smoking cigarettes.... Impenetrable ... that's what it is! What's going
on--in his mind? What's he thinking of? (_Vehemently_ ) He
_is_ thinking of something! All the time! What is it?
_DAN enters from the front door and smiles broadly at them._
DAN: Anybody seen my lady's pills? It's a matter of life and death....
I thought _I_ had 'em.
_HUBERT chuckles._
OLIVIA (_after a pause, in a level voice_): Oh, yes. They're in
the top drawer of the desk. I'm so sorry.
DAN: Thank you.
_He salutes her, goes to the desk, and takes out the pills. They
watch him._
MRS. BRAMSON (_off_) Danny!
DAN: Oh, yes, here they are....
HUBERT (_to say something_): Is she feeling off colour again?
DAN (_on his way to the front door_): Off colour? She's never been
on it, man! To hear her go on you'd think the only thing left is
artificial respiration, And chocolates.... (_Laughing, and
calling_) Coming!
_He goes, shutting the front door behind him._
HUBERT: No, really you have to laugh!
OLIVIA: But what you've just seen ... that's exactly what I mean! It's
acting! He's not being himself for a minute--it's all put on for our
benefit ... don't you see?
HUBERT (_banteringly_): D'you know, I think you're in love with
him.
OLIVIA (_with rather more impatience than is necessary_): Don't
be ridiculous.
HUBERT: I was only joking.
OLIVIA: He's common and insolent, and I dislike him intensely.
MRS. TERENCE _comes in from the kitchen._
MRS. TERENCE: What'll you 'ave for tea, scones or crumpets? Can't make
both.
OLIVIA: What d'_you_ think of Dan?
MRS. TERENCE: Dan? Oh, 'e's all right. Bit of a mystery.
HUBERT: Oh.
MRS. TERENCE (_shutting the kitchen door and coming into the middle
of the room_): Terrible liar, o' course. But then a lot of us are.
Told me he used to 'unt to 'ounds and 'ave 'is own pack. Before 'e went
up in the world and went as a page-boy, I suppose.
OLIVIA (_to_ HUBERT): You see? He wouldn't try that on with us,
but couldn't resist it with her.
HUBERT: I wonder how soon the old girl'll get his number?... Oh, but
fair play, we're talking about the chap as if he were the most
terrible----
MRS. TERENCE: Why, what's 'e done?
HUBERT: Exactly.
OLIVIA: I don't know, but I feel so strongly ... Is Dora there?...
(_Calling cautiously_) Dora!
MRS. TERENCE: Oh, she won't know anything. She's as 'alf-witted as
she's lazy, and that's sayin' a lot. She'd cut 'er nose off to stop the
dust-bin smelling sooner than empty it, she would.
DORA _comes in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron._
DORA: Did somebody say Dora?
OLIVIA: Has Dan said any more about marrying you?
DORA: No. _She_ 'asn't brought it up again, either.
OLIVIA: Does he talk to you at all?
DORA (_perplexed_): Oh ... only how-do-you-do and beg-your-pardon.
I've never really spent any time in 'is company, you see. Except, o'
course--
HUBERT: Quite. What's your idea of him?
DORA: Oh.... (_Moving to the centre of the room_) 'E's all right.
Takes 'is fun where 'e finds it. And leaves it.... Cracks 'imself up,
you know. Pretends 'e doesn't care a twopenny, but always got 'is eye
on what you're thinking of 'im ... if you know what I mean.
OLIVIA: Yes, I do. That incredible vanity ... they always have it.
Always.
HUBERT: Who?
_A pause._
OLIVIA: Murderers.
_A pause. They stare at her._
HUBERT: Good God!...
MRS. TERENCE: D'you mean ... this woman they're looking for?
OLIVIA: I'm sure of it.
MRS. TERENCE: But 'es's such a--such a ordinary boy--
OLIVIA: That's just it--and then he's suddenly so ... extraordinary.
I've felt it ever since I heard him sing that song--I told you--
HUBERT: That "mighty-lak-a-rose" thing, you mean? Oh, but it's a pretty
well-known one--
OLIVIA: It's more than that. I've kept on saying to myself: No,
murder's a thing we read about in the papers; it isn't real life; it
can't touch us. ... But it can. And it's here. All round us. In the
forest ... in this house. We're ... living with it. (_After a pause,
rising decisively_) Bring his luggage in here, will you, Mrs.
Terence?
MRS. TERENCE (_staggered_): 'Is luggage? (_Recovering, to_
DORA) Give me a 'and.
_Wide-eyed, she goes into the kitchen, followed by_ DORA.
HUBERT: I say, this is a bit thick, you know--spying--
OLIVIA (_urgently_): We may never have the house to ourselves
again.
_She runs to each window and looks out across the forest._ MRS.
TERENCE _returns carrying luggage: one large and one small
suitcase_. DORA _follows, lugging an old-fashioned thick leather
hat-box_. MRS. TERENCE _places the suitcases on the table_;
DORA _plants the hat-box in the middle of the floor._
MRS. TERENCE (_in a conspiratorial tone_): This is all.
HUBERT: But look here, we can't do this--
OLIVIA _snaps open the lid of the larger suitcase with a jerk. A
pause. They look, almost afraid_. DORA _moves to the back of the
table._
MRS. TERENCE (_as_ OLIVIA _lifts it gingerly_): A dirty shirt ...
HUBERT: That's all right.
OLIVIA: A clean pair of socks ... packet of razor-blades ...
HUBERT: We shouldn't be doing this--I feel as if I were at school
again--
MRS. TERENCE: Singlet ...
OLIVIA: Half ticket to Shepperley Palais de Danse ...
MRS. TERENCE: Oh, it's a proper 'aunt!
DORA: Oh, 'ere's a pocket-book. With a letter.
(_She gives the letter to_ MRS. TERENCE _and the pocket-book
to_ OLIVIA.)
HUBERT: Look here, this is going a bit too far--you can't do this to a
chap--
MRS. TERENCE (_taking the letter from the envelope_): Don't be
silly, dear, your wife'll do it to you 'undreds of times....
(_Sniffing the note-paper_) Pooh.... (_Reading, as they crane
over her shoulder_) "Dear Baby-Face my own ..." Signed Lil....
OLIVIA: What awful writing....
MRS. TERENCE (_reading, heavily_): "... Next time you strike
Newcastle, O.K. by me, baby...." Ooh!
HUBERT: Just another servant-girl.... Sorry, Dora....
DORA (_lugubriously_): O.K.
OLIVIA (_rummaging in the pocket-book_): Bus ticket to Thorburton,
some snaps ...
MRS. TERENCE: Look at 'er _bust_!
OLIVIA: Here's a group.... Look, Hubert....
HUBERT _joins her in front of the table._
HUBERT: This wench is rather fetching.
MRS. TERENCE (_crowding between them_): Look at _'er_!... The
impudence, 'er being taken in a bathing-suit!...
DORA: He's not in this one, is 'e?
HUBERT (_impressed_): Oh, I say ... there _she_ is!
MRS. TERENCE and DORA: who?
HUBERT: The missing female! In front of the tall man.... You remember
the photograph of her in the _Mirror_?
DORA: It's awful to think she may be dead. Awful....
MRS. TERENCE: Looks ever so sexy, doesn't she?
DORA: 'Ere's one of a little boy--
OLIVIA: How extraordinary....
HUBERT: What?
OLIVIA: It's himself.
DORA: The little Eton collar.... Oh, dear ... ever so sweet, isn't it?
MRS. TERENCE: Now that's what I call a real innocent face....
HUBERT (_going to the centre of the room_): Well, that's that....
OLIVIA: Wait a minute, wasn't there another one? (_Seeing the
hat-box_) Oh, yes....
HUBERT (_lifting it on to a chair_): Oh, this; yes....
DORA: Old-fashioned, isn't it?
MRS. TERENCE: I should think he got it from a box-room at the
Tallboys--
OLIVIA (_puzzled_): But it looks so extraordinary--(_She gives a
sudden gasp.)
They look at her. She is staring at the box. A pause._
HUBERT: What is it?
OLIVIA: I don't know.... Suppose there is something ... inside it?
_A pause. They stare at her, fascinated by her thought. The front
door bangs. They are electrified into action: but it is too late. It
is_ DAN. _He goes briskly to the table._
DAN: She wants to sit in the sun now and have a bit of _East
Lynne_. Talk about changin' your mind--
_He sees the suitcases on the table before him, and is motionless and
silent. A pause. The others dare not move. He finally breaks the
situation, takes up "East Lynne" from the table, and walks slowly back
to the front door. He stops, looks round at_ HUBERT, _smiles, and
comes down to him. His manner is normal--too normal._
Could I have it back, please? It's the only one I got....
HUBERT: Oh ... yes, of course.... (_Handing him the pocket-book._)
DAN (_taking it_): Thank you very much.
HUBERT: Not at all ... I ... (_To_ OLIVIA) Here, you deal with
this. It's beyond me.
DAN (_to him_): Did you see the picture of me when I was a little
fellow?
HUBERT: Yes.... Very jolly.
DAN (_turning to_ MRS. TERENCE): Did _you?_ It was in the
inside of my wallet.
MRS. TERENCE: Oh ... was it?
DAN: Yes. Where I should be keeping my money, only any bit of money I
have I always keep _on_ me. (_Turning to_ HUBERT) Safer, don't
you think?
HUBERT (_smiling weakly_): Ye-es....
DAN: I only keep one ten-bob note in this wallet, for emergencies....
(_Looking_) That's funny. It's gone.
_He looks at_ HUBERT. _The others look blankly at one
another._ ... I expect I dropped it somewhere.... What did you think
of the letter?
HUBERT: Letter?
DAN: You got in your hand.
HUBERT: Well, I didn't--er--
DAN: Means well, does Lil; but we had a row. (_Taking back the
letter_) She would spy on me. And if there's anythin' I hate, it's
spyin'. Don't you agree?
HUBERT: Ye-es.
DAN: I'd sooner have anythin' than a spy. (_To_ MRS. TERENCE) Bar
a murderer, o' course.
_A pause. He is arranging his property in his wallet._
HUBERT (_incredulous_): What--what did you say?
DAN (_turning to him casually_): Bar a murderer, o' course!
OLIVIA _steps forward_. MRS. TERENCE _steps back from the chair
on which the hat-box has been placed_.
OLIVIA (_incisively_): Talking of murder, do you know anything
about Mrs. Chalfont's whereabouts at the moment?
DAN _turns to her, and for the first time sees the hat-box. He
stands motionless. A pause._
DAN: Mrs. Who? OLIVIA: You can't pretend you've never heard of her.
DAN (_turning to_ HUBERT, _recovering himself_): Oh, Mrs.
_Chalfont's_ whereabouts! I thought she said her name was Mrs.
Chalfontswear. (_Profusely_) Silly.... Swear--about--couldn't
think----
OLIVIA: Well?
DAN (_still looking at_ HUBERT, _brightly, after a pause_):
I've nothin' to go on, but I think she's been ... murdered.
HUBERT: Oh, you do?
DAN: Yes, I do.
MRS. TERENCE: Who by?
DAN: They say she had several chaps on a string, and----(_Suddenly_)
There was one fellow, a London chap, a bachelor, very citified--with a
fair moust----(_He stares at_ HUBERT.)
HUBERT (_touching his moustache, unconsciously_): What are you
looking at me for?
DAN: Well ... you wasn't round these parts the day she bunked, was you?
HUBERT: Yes, I was, as a matter of fact.
DAN (_significantly_): Oh....
MRS. BRAMSON'S VOICE (_calling in the garden_): Danny!
HUBERT (_flustered_): What in God's name are you getting at?
DAN _smiles and shrugs his shoulders regretfully at him, and goes out
through the front door._ OLIVIA _sits at the table._
MRS. TERENCE (_to_ HUBERT, _perplexed_): Are you sure you
didn't do it, sir?
HUBERT: I'm going out for a breath of air.
_He takes his hat and stick as he goes through the hall, and goes out
through the front door._
MRS. TERENCE (_to_ OLIVIA): You don't still think--
OLIVIA: I won't say any more. I know how silly it sounds.
DORA _runs into the kitchen, snivelling._
MRS. TERENCE (_to_ OLIVIA): The way you worked us all up! Doesn't
it all go to show--
_She hears_ DAN _return, and looks round apprehensively. He goes
to the table slowly and looks at the two suitcases._
DAN (_smiling, to_ MRS. TERENCE): Would you mind please givin' me
a hand with the tidyin' up?... (_Taking up the suitcases_) And
carryin' the other one?... (_Going into the kitchen, followed by_
MRS. TERENCE _carrying the hat-box_) Looks as if we're goin' on
our holidays, doesn't it?...
OLIVIA _is alone for a moment. She stares before her, perplexed._
DAN _returns. She looks away. He looks at her, his eyes narrowed. A
pause. Studying her, he takes from a pocket of his jacket a
formidable-looking clasp-knife, unclasps it, and tests the blade
casually with his fingers. He glances at the mantelpiece, crosses
to it, takes down a stick, and begins to sharpen the end of it._
OLIVIA _watches him. A pause._ OLIVIA: _Did_ you do it?
_He whittles at the stick._
DAN: You wouldn't be bad-lookin' without them glasses.
OLIVIA: It doesn't interest me very much what I look like.
DAN: Don't you believe it.... (_Surveying the shavings in the
hearth_) Tch!... Clumsy.... (_Looking round, and seeing a
newspaper lying on the table_) Ah....
_He crosses to the table.
(Smiling, with the suspicion of a mock-bow_) Excuse me.... (_He
unfolds the newspaper on the table and begins to whittle the stick over
it_.)
OLIVIA: You're very conceited, aren't you?
DAN (_reassuringly_): Yes....
OLIVIA: And you _are_ acting all the time, aren't you?
DAN (_staring at her, as if astonished_): Actin'? Actin' what?
(_Leaning over the table, on both arms_) Look at the way I can
look you in the eyes. I'll stare you out....
OLIVIA (_staring into his eyes_): I have a theory it's the
criminals who _can_ look you in the eyes, and the honest people
who blush and look away.
DAN (_smiling_): Oh....
OLIVIA (_after a pause, challenging_): It's a very blank look,
though, isn't it?
DAN (_smiling_): Is it?
OLIVIA: You are acting, aren't you?
DAN (_after a pause, in a whisper, almost joyfully_): Yes!
OLIVIA (_fascinated_): And what are you like when you stop acting?
DAN: I dunno, it's so long since I stopped.
OLIVIA: But when you're alone?
DAN: Then I act more than ever I do.
OLIVIA: Why?
DAN: I dunno; 'cause I like it.... (_Breaking the scene, pulling a
chair round to the table_) Now what d'ye say if _I_ ask a
question or two for a change? (_Sitting in the chair facing her_)
Just for a change.... Why can't you take a bit of an interest in some
other body but me?
OLIVIA (_taken aback_): I'm not interested in you. Only you don't
talk. That's bound to make people wonder.
DAN: I can talk a lot sometimes. A drop o' drink makes a power o'
difference to me. (_Chuckling_) You'd be surprised.... Ah....
_He returns to his work._
OLIVIA: I wonder if I would....
DAN: I know you would....
OLIVIA: I think I can diagnose you all right.
DAN: Carry on.
OLIVIA: You haven't any feelings ... at all....
_He looks slowly up at her. She has struck home._
But you live in a world of your own.... A world of your own
imagination.
DAN: I don't understand so very well, not bein' so very liter-er-airy.
OLIVIA: You follow me perfectly well.
_He shrugs his shoulders, laughs, and goes on whittling._
DAN: D'you still think there's been a bit o' dirty work?
OLIVIA: I don't know what to think now. I suppose not.
DAN (_intent on his work, his back to the audience_):
Disappointed?
OLIVIA: What on earth do you mean?
DAN: Disappointed?
OLIVIA (_laughing, in spite of herself_): Yes, I suppose I am.
DAN: Why?
OLIVIA (_the tension at last relaxed_): Oh, I don't know....
Because nothing much has ever happened to me, and it's a dull day, and
it's the depths of the country.... I don't know....
_A piercing scream from the bottom of the garden. A pause._
MRS. BRAMSON (_shrieking from the other side of the house_):
Danny!... Danny!
_The clatter of footsteps in the garden_. DORA _runs in from the
hall, breathless and terrified._
DORA: They're diggin' ... in the rubbish-pit ...
OLIVIA: Well?
DORA: There's something sticking out....
OLIVIA: What?
DORA: A hand ... Somebody's hand!... Oh, Miss Grayne ... somebody's
hand....
_She runs whimpering into the kitchen, as_ OLIVIA _rises and
runs to the left window and looks out._
MRS. BRAMSON'S VOICE (_calling off_): Danny!
DAN _rises slowly, his back to the audience._
OLIVIA _turns and suddenly sees him. Horror grows in her face.
The blare of music. The lights dim out._