Read No Laughing Matter Online
Authors: Angus Wilson
No Laughing Matter (14 page)
Billy Pop, hearing the bell’s tone and remembering all that
depended
on his mother’s amiability, gave himself another sherry. ‘I am Chu Chin Chow from China,’ he bawled. Gladys thought, of course I was right to lend, and if it comes to a battle I shall tell the old girls about it. Quentin had said war’s foul; but Alfred: war’s a bad business, old girl. And there’s only one rule – make sure you win. Quentin looking up, said ‘Beginners please,’ and Marcus answered: ‘Five minutes please. How lucky that Rupert has told us all about the rules of the theatre.’ The Countess seized a new music sheet from the piano top. ‘I left my love in Avalon,’ she sang. ‘Have I got the ragtime rhythm right, dear boy?’ ‘Yes, Contessa, darling. And sailed the sea,’ sang Rupert.
The bell rang again. ‘Whatever it is, Elizabeth Carmichael thought, whatever it is that’s coming – a sudden fortune from an unknown uncle in Johannesburg, a mysterious letter from an unknown quarter, a fair young man from next door, a dark young man from over the sea – I’m open to it.’ Exulting, Margaret reached the bottom step, crossed the hall, opened the front door. There was Mouse – in her pepper-and-salt tailor made, a severe tricorne pulled down over her pepper-and-salt hair.
‘How ever long have you been there, Aunt Mouse?’
‘My dear Margaret, when you get to my age you’ll cease to count the minutes. In any case,’ she kissed her great-niece, ‘it’s your job to keep time, not mine. How is the dancing?’
‘There’s so much noise I didn’t hear the bell.’
Indeed the cacophony of voices raised in song appeared to
overwhelm
Miss Rickard a little, for she stepped back from the front door. A gust of wind blew among the green feathers of the parrot that sat on her shoulder and set it shrieking.
‘Hush, Mr Poll, don’t you add to the noise. At least one can make no mistake about it’s being a happy home.’ She set her lips in a twisted, ironic smile.
The
first
floor
drawing-room
of
MRS WILLIAM MATTHEWS JUNIOR
at
No.
52
Gillbrook
Street,
London
S.
W.
1
.
Left
a
fireplace
with
coal
fire
burning;
right
a
door
leads
on
to
landing
and
staircase;
back
stage
casement
windows
with
curtains
(through
which
a
revolving
light
may
show
the
falling
leaves
of
late
autumn,
swirling
in
the
high
wind).
A
deep
sofa
and
two
deep
armchairs
in
flowered
cretonne,
with
many
cushions,
round
and
sausage
shaped
in
bright
primary
colours;
a
pouffe
in
the
same
cretonne;
two
or
three
Victorian
imitation
Hepplewhite
chairs
and
two
Victorian
imitation
Louis
Seize
tables
on
which
are
black
bowls
and
Wedgwood
blue
jugs
filled
with
bronze
and
yellow
chrysanthemums;
a
rose
pink
Wilton
carpet;
at
one
end
of
the
chimneypiece
a
late
Dresden
figure
of
a
shepherd
with
a
goat
and
at
the
other
a
shepherdess
with
a
lamb;
in
the
centre
a
pewter
mug
filled
with
cape
gooseberries
and
honesty
pods.
A
grand
piano
on
which
a
white
Spanish
shawl
with
red
and
green
embroidered
roses
and
on
this
some
silver
framed
photographs
and
a
china
bowl
containing
potpourri.
At
the
piano
MRS MATTHEWS
is
seated
on
a
piano
stool
playing
and
singing,
‘I
left
my
love
in
Avalon’.
She
is
a
slim,
dark,
gipsy-like
woman
in
her
late
forties
smartly
dressed
in
a
blue
gaberdine
coatfrock
with
patent
leather
appliqué
and
a
toque
made
of
artificial
violets.
Beside
her,
facing
upstage,
is
her
nineteen
year
old
son,
RUPERT
,
tall,
handsome
and
fair-haired
(young
man’s
lounge
suit
of
the
period).
He
joins
her
in
the
song,
both
are
almost
guying
the
rag-time
rhythm,
and
their
gaiety
becomes
more
hectic
as
the
sound
of
voices
and
steps
outside
the
door
grows
nearer.
It
is
clear
they
have
recently
been
quarrelling
violently
and
are
now
putting
on
a
show
for
visitors.
The
door
opens
and
MARGARET
MATT
HEWS
,
a
tall
girl
of
seventeen,
with
dark
untidy
hair
and
a
general
air
of
having
‘come
down
to
earth’
somewhat
uncomfortably
(a
testing
air
for
the
young
actress
to
assume)
enters
with
MOUSE
,
an
elderly
woman
of
sixty-
five
or
so
dressed
in
a
rather
manishly
cut
grey
tweed
skirt
and
coat
and
a
tricorne
hat.
On
her
shoulder
is
perched
a
green
Amazon
parrot.
MRS MATTHEWS
junior: Should I vamp here, dear boy?
MOUSE
: I have never known her to do anything else when men were about, Rupert.
MRS MATTHEWS
junior: Mouse! Really! Before my own children!
But how lovely to see you, darling! It’s so nice that you’ve been able to spare time for us before you go off again. Where is it this time? Patagonia?
MOUSE
: No. Nothing so exotic. Just Constantinople. Though after being cooped up for nearly five miserable war years in this
overcrowded
island I should be perfectly justified in seeking the
Kalahari
desert. But my desert days are over. The small taste of Tunis after the Armistice told me that. Keep to the tourist beaten tracks from now on.
MRS MATTHEWS
junior: I don’t believe it for a moment. And I’m sure Mr Polly looks as though he could cross the Sahara unaided. Would I be wrong, or has he lost a few feathers on top?
MOUSE
: Wrong. I’m the only one that’s going bald. Well, Mag, you haven’t answered my first question. How’s the dancing?
MARGARET
: My left foot is less painful than the right, Aunt Mouse. Somehow the little boys of Claremont School seem to tread on it less often.
MOUSE
: Little boys? What little boys?
MARGARET
: The boys of Claremont Preparatory School. They come to Miss Lamont’s for dancing class each Saturday morning.
MOUSE
: You don’t mean to say Miss Lamont …
MRS MATTHEWS
junior [
interrupting
]:
And of course, as you may suppose, Mouse, all the little boys are desperately in love with our Mag. Notes and billets doux and, no doubt, a bunch of roses from the head prefect. The stems a little sticky from the sticky little fingers but no less a genuine offering of love. Oh! I can imagine it all.
MARGARET
: You do.
MRS MATTHEWS
junior [
more
desperately
interrupting,
sings,
playing
the
little
tune
on
the
piano
]:
Sir, she said. Sir, she said. Your face is your fortune, my pretty maid. [
She
breaks
off
singing
and
rattles
on
in
speech
.]
But your
feet
are
your
fortune, Mag. Well, of course, seventeen can hardly be expected to care about the broken hearts of thirteen year olds. She wants to break older hearts, Mouse. I tell her that if she would get out of these old maids’ browns and greys [
RUPERT
smiles
]
– No, I know what I’m saying, Rupert. I don’t make gaffes so easily. Mouse
chose
the single state. That’s not old maidish, it’s just being less foolish than other women. But don’t you think, Mouse, if she wore warmer colours? She’s got beautiful
eyes. You have, Mag, but you don’t give them a showing.
MOUSE
: Warmer colours won’t help her feet. Her feet are the source of her art, Clara. Like a painter’s eyes.
MRS MATTHEWS
junior: I don’t agree with you at all, Mouse. If Mag has one really good feature – and everybody has one – it’s her eyes.
MOUSE
: If she lets her feet get misshapen, she won’t get a showing anywhere. What can Miss Lamont be about, letting a ballet dancer …
MARGARET
: It’s been decided that I shouldn’t go on with ballet …
MOUSE
: Decided? Who’s decided? What do you mean decided?
MRS MATTHEWS
junior: What indeed? Nothing’s decided,
Margaret
. You know that.
MARGARET
: Well, the action’s been taken without decision.
MRS MATTHEWS
junior: Action? That’s just what we need. All this can be discussed later, but at the moment poor Mouse is dying for a glass of sherry. Take some action, Rupert. Stir your stumps. You’re not there just for your beauty. What do you think this ridiculous boy wants to do, Mouse? Go on the stage! And with a wonderful business career ahead of him!
MOUSE
: One thing at a time, please, Clara. What’s this about
Margaret
giving up ballet? Why haven’t I been told?
MRS MATTHEWS
junior: My dear Mouse, the girl’s whole future is hardly something one could discuss through Coutts’ Bank and the camel post, is it? If you will go to the ends of the earth…. I intended to have a good long chat with you this afternoon. About that and all sorts of other things that just wouldn’t do in letters.
MOUSE
: You could find time to write about your own money difficulties, Clara.
MRS MATTHEWS
junior: They were very pressing, Mouse. I hope everyone’s not going to bully me. Today’s not a very easy day for me, Mouse. You understand, dear boy, don’t you. Well then, do something. If Mouse doesn’t want a sherry, I want a cocktail. Mix me a Bronx like Milton showed you. Oh, we’ve been so American, Mouse, these last months. [
Playing
and
singing
feverishly
.] But it’s all quite over over here. Oh well. Oh, Rupert, do
something
. Act, dear boy. Now’s your chance to show us. Prove you can act.
RUPERT
[
to
audience
]:
Prove that I can act! I’ve had one feeble line
since the curtain went up. And now I’m to play the butler. [
Exit
as
MOUSE
speaks.
]
MOUSE
: Why has Margaret given up her ballet?
MRS MATTHEWS
junior: If anything, ballet’s given her up. Look at her. We’ve always known that if she grew too much …
M
ARGARET:
That’s not fair. We agreed that if I outgrew Pavlova …
M
RS MATTHEWS
junior: Outgrew Pavlova! Outgrew Pavlova! I’m sick to death of hearing that parrot cry. Oh, not you, Mr Polly. You’ve been very good. He’s lost almost all that shrieking, Mouse. He’s quite a grown-up parrot, now. Outgrown Pavlova! Anyone would think Pavlova was a bad habit like nail-biting instead of a very great dancer and a very beautiful woman.
MOUSE:
But if it’s really so, Clara, does the girl want to go on with dancing? Do you, Margaret – ordinary ballroom dancing?
MRS M
ATTHEWS
junior: Now, Mouse darling, you mustn’t judge everyone by yourself. Not all girls are blue stockings. Why, at seventeen I could have danced all night. In any case she’s got to think of earning her living. We can’t support these children forever. That’s why I jumped at Miss Lamont’s offer.
MOUSE
: What offer?
MRS MATTHEWS
junior: For her to do a little teaching.
MOUSE:
I don’t think that’s quite straight of Miss Lamont. I’m
surprised
at her. She receives my Banker’s Orders regularly and then … [
RUPERT
r
eappears
with
drinks,
bottles
and
a
shaker
on
tray.
]
MRS MATTHEWS
junior: Oh, darling heart, heaven sent boy. And with a perfect Bronx! Isn’t he clever, Mouse? Give Mouse a sherry. And so handsome! And the silly boy’s covering those wonderful features with yellow paint when he ought to be a hussar with glorious whiskers.
M
ARGARET:
Aunt Mouse, I think you ought to know …
MRS MATTHEWS
junior: Don’t be so egotistical, Mag. For once the conversation wasn’t about you. But now you’ve begun, we’d better tell Mouse, shall we?
MARGARET:
Please, Mother.
MRS MATTHEWS
junior: She’s embarrassed, Mouse, because after all the money you’ve spent on her dancing, she’s been wasting a lot of time writing stories.
MARGARET
[
interrupting
]:
But that isn’t it … my writing’s nothing to do … you know very well …
MRS MATTHEWS
junior: But Mouse won’t mind. She might even make a little pin money by it, mightn’t she, Mouse? Who knows? [
M
ARGARET
has
tried
to
interrupt
her
hut
her
Mother
has
talked
over
her.
]
M
OUSE
: Perhaps the girl would prefer to take some course in writing, or what about going to the University if she’s too tall for ballet? I should like my great niece to be a writer. It’s a fulfilled life. Mrs Belloc Lowndes …
M
RS
MATTHEWS
junior: Oh, really, Mouse. She’s got to earn her living. Why,
Billy
can hardly make a living out of writing.
M
OUSE:
He’s almost made one out of not writing.
M
RS
M
ATTHEWS
junior: Now, that’s not nice. Just because he’s a perfectionist like you, Mouse. I won’t have my poor Billy abused in his absence. [
She
goes
to
the
door,
opens
it,
and
calls.
]
Billy! Billy! Leave your old books and come down and talk to Mouse.
M
OUSE
: It’s Miss Lamont I’ve got to talk to. She has no right to take full fees and then use the gel as a teacher. It’s very near to false pretences…. [
As
M
OUSE
talks
,
M
RS
M
ATTHEWS
,
who
is
beginning
to
despair
of
deflecting
her
from
the
fatal
subject,
makes
a
last
desperate
effort,
by
addressing
her
remarks
to
the
parrot.
]
MRS
MATTHEWS
junior: Well, Mr Polly, I hope you’re taking a nice supply of nuts to Constantinople. Or will they convert you to Turkish Delight? Will they, Poll? Will they? [
She
puts
out
her
finger
and
withdraws
it
only
just
in
time.
]
You bloody bird! No, no, Mouse. Mr Polly and I were just talking Pygmalion talk! Swear at you, Mr Polly. Not bloody likely!
M
OUSE
: Has Miss Lamont given you no explanation, Clara?
MRS
MATTHEWS
junior [
at
the
door,
calling
]:
Billy! Billy!
M
OUSE:
Will you listen to me, Clara, please?
MRS
MATTHEWS
junior [
apparently
defeated,
in
a
resigned
voice
]:
Yes,
M
OUSE
. [
The
front
door
bell
rings.
]
Saved by the bell. [
She
sinks
on
to
the
piano
stool
exhausted
and
,
as
B
ILLY
P
OP
appears
at
the
door,
she
begins
to
play
and
sing
with
imitated
piety,
‘Safe
into
the
haven
guide,
oh,
receive
my
soul
at
last.’
The
others
form
a
tableau
of
astonishment
on
which
the
curtain
descends.
]
