Delphi Complete Works of Jerome K. Jerome (Illustrated) (Series Four) (314 page)

FANNY. And a good job if he had.

NEWTE. Now talk sense. You wanted him — you took a fancy to him from the beginning. He’s a nice boy, and there’s something owing to him. [It is his trump card, and he knows it.] Don’t forget that. He’s been busy, explaining to all his friends and relations why they should receive you with open arms: really nice girl, born gentlewoman, good old Church of England family — no objection possible. For you to spring the truth upon him NOW — well, it doesn’t seem to me quite fair to HIM.

FANNY. Then am I to live all my life dressed as a charity girl?

NEWTE. You keep your head and things will gradually right themselves. This family of yours — they’ve got SOME sense, I suppose?

FANNY. Never noticed any sign of it myself.

NEWTE. Maybe you’re not a judge. [Laughs.] They’ll listen to reason. You let ME have a talk to them, one of these days; see if I can’t show them — first one and then the other — the advantage of leaving to “better” themselves — WITH THE HELP OF A LITTLE READY MONEY. Later on — choosing your proper time — you can break it to him that you have discovered they’re distant connections of yours, a younger branch of the family that you’d forgotten. Give the show time to settle down into a run. Then you can begin to make changes.

FANNY. You’ve a wonderful way with you, George. It always sounds right as you put it — even when one jolly well knows that it isn’t.

NEWTE. Well, it’s always been right for you, old girl, ain’t it?

FANNY. Yes. You’ve been a rattling good friend. [She takes his hands.] Almost wish I’d married you instead. We’d have been more suited to one another.

NEWTE [shakes his head]. Nothing like having your fancy. You’d never have been happy without him. [He releases her.] ’Twas a good engagement, or I’d never have sanctioned it.

FANNY. I suppose it will be the last one you will ever get me. [She has dropped for a moment into a brown study.]

NEWTE [he turns]. I hope so.

FANNY [she throws off her momentary mood with a laugh]. Poor fellow!
You never even got your commission.

NEWTE. I’ll take ten per cent. of all your happiness, old girl. So make it as much as you can for my benefit. Good-bye. [He holds out hand.]

FANNY. You’re not going? You’ll stop to lunch?

NEWTE. Not to-day.

FANNY. Do. If you don’t, they’ll think it’s because I was frightened to ask you.

NEWTE. All the better. The more the other party thinks he’s having his way, the easier always to get your own. Your trouble is, you know, that you never had any tact.

FANNY. I hate tact. [Newte laughs.] We could have had such a jolly little lunch together. I’m all alone till the evening. There were ever so many things I wanted to talk to you about.

NEWTE. What?

FANNY. Ah, how can one talk to a man with his watch in his hand? [He puts it away and stands waiting, but she is cross.] I think you’re very disagreeable.

NEWTE. I must really get back to town. I oughtn’t to be away now, only your telegram -

FANNY. I know. I’m an ungrateful little beast! [She crosses and rings bell.] You’ll have a glass of champagne before you go?

NEWTE. Well, I won’t say no to that.

FANNY. How are all the girls?

NEWTE. Oh, chirpy. I’m bringing them over to London. We open at the Palace next week.

FANNY. What did they think of my marriage? Gerty was a bit jealous, wasn’t she?

NEWTE. Well, would have been, if she’d known who he was. [Laughs.]

FANNY. Tell her. Tell her [she draws herself up] I’m Lady Bantock, of Bantock Hall, Rutlandshire. It will make her so mad. [Laughs.]

NEWTE [laughs]. I will.

FANNY. Give them all my love. [Ernest appears in answer to her bell.] Oh, Ernest, tell Bennet — [the eyes and mouth of Ernest open]- -to see that Mr. Newte has some refreshment before he leaves. A glass of champagne and — and some caviare. Don’t forget. [Ernest goes out.] Good-bye. You’ll come again?

NEWTE. Whenever you want me — and remember — the watchword is “Tact”!

FANNY. Yes, I’ve got the WORD all right. [Laughs.] Don’t forget to give my love to the girls.

NEWTE. I won’t. So long! [He goes out.]

Fanny closes the door. Honoria has re-entered from the dressing- room. She looks from the handkerchief still hanging over the keyhole to Fanny.

HONORIA. Your ladyship’s handkerchief?

FANNY. Yes. Such a draught through that keyhole.

HONORIA [takes the handkerchief, hands it to Fanny]. I will tell the housekeeper.

FANNY. Thanks. Maybe you will also mention it to the butler. Possibly also to the — [She suddenly changes.] Honoria. Suppose it had been you — you know, you’re awfully pretty — who had married Lord Bantock, and he had brought you back here, among them all — uncle, aunt, all the lot of them — what would you have done?

HONORIA [she draws herself up]. I should have made it quite plain from the first, that I was mistress, and that they were my servants.

FANNY. You would, you think -

HONORIA [checking her outburst]. But then, dear — you will excuse my speaking plainly — there is a slight difference between the two cases. [She seats herself on the settee. Fanny is standing near the desk.] You see, what we all feel about you, dear, is — that you are — well, hardly a fit wife for his lordship. [Fanny’s hands are itching to box the girl’s ears. To save herself, she grinds out through her teeth the word “Tack!”] Of course, dear, it isn’t altogether your fault.

FANNY. Thanks.

HONORIA. Your mother’s marriage was most unfortunate.

FANNY [her efforts to suppress her feelings are just — but only just — successful.] Need we discuss that?

HONORIA. Well, he was an Irishman, dear, there’s no denying it. [Fanny takes a cushion from a chair — with her back to Honoria, she strangles it. Jane has entered and is listening.] Still, perhaps it is a painful subject. And we hope — all of us — that, with time and patience, we may succeed in eradicating the natural results of your bringing-up.

JANE. Some families, finding themselves in our position, would seek to turn it to their own advantage. WE think only of your good.

FANNY. Yes, that’s what I feel — that you are worrying yourselves too much about me. You’re too conscientious, all of you. You, in particular, Jane, because you know you’re not strong. YOU’LL end up with a nervous breakdown. [Mrs. Bennet has entered. Honoria slips out. Fanny turns to her aunt.] I was just saying how anxious I’m getting about Jane. I don’t like the look of her at all. What she wants is a holiday. Don’t you agree with me?

MRS. BENNET. There will be no holiday, I fear, for any of us, for many a long day.

FANNY. But you must. You must think more of yourselves, you know. YOU’RE not looking well, aunt, at all. What you both want is a month — at the seaside.

MRS. BENNET. Your object is too painfully apparent for the subject to need discussion. True solicitude for us would express itself better in greater watchfulness upon your own behaviour.

FANNY. Why, what have I done?

Bennet enters, followed, unwillingly, by Ernest.

MRS. BENNET. Your uncle will explain.

BENNET. Shut that door. [Ernest does so. They group round Bennet — Ernest a little behind. Fanny remains near the desk.] Sit down. [Fanny, bewildered, speechless, sits.] Carry your mind back, please, to the moment when, with the Bradshaw in front of you, you were considering, with the help of your cousin Ernest, the possibility of your slipping out unobserved, to meet and commune with a person you had surreptitiously summoned to visit you during your husband’s absence.

FANNY. While I think of it, did he have anything to eat before he went? I told Ernest to — ask you to see that he had a glass of champagne and a -

BENNET [waves her back into silence]. Mr. Newte was given refreshment suitable to his station. [She goes to interrupt. Again he waves her back.] We are speaking of more important matters. Your cousin reminded you that you would have to pass the lodge, occupied by your Aunt Amelia. I state the case correctly?

FANNY. Beautifully!

BENNET. I said nothing at the time, doubting the evidence of my own ears. The boy, however — where is the boy? — [Ernest is pushed forward] — has admitted — reluctantly — that he also heard it. [A pause. The solemnity deepens.] You made use of an expression -

FANNY. Oh, cut it short. I said “damn.” [A shudder passes.] I’m sorry to have frightened you, but if you knew a little more of really good society, you would know that ladies — quite slap-up ladies — when they’re excited, do — .

MRS. BENNET [interrupting with almost a scream]. She defends it!

BENNET. You will allow ME to be the judge of what a LADY says, even when she is excited. As for this man, Newte -

FANNY. The best friend you ever had. [She is “up” again.] You thank your stars, all of you, and tell the others, too, the whole blessed twenty-three of you — you thank your stars that I did “surreptitiously” beg and pray him to run down by the first train and have a talk with me; and that Providence was kind enough to YOU to enable him to come. It’s a very different tune you’d have been singing at this moment — all of you — if he hadn’t. I can tell you that.

MRS. BENNET. And pray, what tune SHOULD we have been singing if
Providence hadn’t been so thoughtful of us?

FANNY [she is about to answer, then checks herself, and sits again].
You take care you don’t find out. There’s time yet.

MRS. BENNET. We had better leave her.

BENNET. Threats, my good girl, will not help you.

MRS. BENNET [with a laugh]. She’s in too tight a corner for that.

BENNET. A contrite heart is what your aunt and I desire to see. [He takes from his pocket a small book, places it open on the desk.] I have marked one or two passages, on pages 93-7. We will discuss them together — later in the day.

They troop out in silence, the key turns in the lock.

FANNY [takes up the book — turns to the cover, reads]. “The Sinner’s
Manual.” [She turns to page 93.]

[CURTAIN]

ACT III

SCENE

The same.

Time. — A few days later.

A table is laid for tea. Ernest enters with the tea-urn. He leaves the door open; through it comes the sound of an harmonium, accompanying the singing of a hymn. Fanny comes from her dressing- room. She is dressed more cheerfully than when we last saw her, but still “seemly.” She has a book in her hand. She pauses, hearing the music, goes nearer to the open door, and listens; then crosses and takes her place at the table. The music ceases.

FANNY. Another prayer meeting? [Ernest nods.] I do keep ’em busy.

ERNEST. D’ye know what they call you downstairs?

FANNY. What?

ERNEST. The family cross.

FANNY. I’m afraid it’s about right.

ERNEST. What have you been doing THIS time? Swearing again?

FANNY. Worse. I’ve been lying. [Ernest gives vent to a low whistle.] Said I didn’t know what had become of that yellow poplin with the black lace flounces, that they’ve had altered for me. Found out that I’d given it to old Mother Potts for the rummage sale at the Vicarage. Jane was down there. Bought it in for half a crown.

ERNEST. You are risky. Why, you might have known -

Vernon comes in. He is in golfing get-up. He throws his cap on to the settee.

VERNON. Hello, got a cup of tea there?

Ernest goes out.

FANNY. Yes. Thought you were playing golf?

VERNON. Just had a telegram handed to me in the village — from your friend Newte. Wants me to meet him at Melton Station at five o’clock. [Looks at his watch.] Know what he wants?

FANNY. Haven’t the faintest idea. [She hands him his cup.] Is he coming HERE? Or merely on his way somewhere?

VERNON. I don’t know; he doesn’t say.

FANNY. Don’t let him mix you up in any of his “ventures.” Dear old George, he’s as honest as the day, but if he gets hold of an “idea” there’s always thousands in it for everybody.

VERNON. I’ll be careful. [Ernest has left the door open. The harmonium breaks forth again, together with vocal accompaniment as before.] What’s on downstairs, then — a party?

FANNY. Bennet is holding a prayer meeting.

VERNON. A prayer meeting?

FANNY. One of the younger members of the family has been detected “telling a deliberate lie.” [Vernon is near the door listening, with his back towards her, or he would see that she is smiling.] Black sheep, I suppose, to be found in every flock. [Music ceases, Ernest having arrived with the news of his lordship’s return.]

VERNON [returning to the table, having closed the door]. Good old man, you know, Bennet. All of them! So high-principled! Don’t often get servants like that, nowadays.

FANNY. Seems almost selfish, keeping the whole collection to ourselves.

VERNON [laughs]. ‘Pon my word it does. But what can we do? They’ll never leave us — not one of them.