The Mousetrap and Other Plays (120 page)

ANGELA
. Yes—of Amyas. I'd always come first with Caroline and I couldn't bear her to be absorbed in him. I played all sorts of tricks on him—put—what was it, now—some filthy stuff—valerian, I think, in his beer, and once I put a hedgehog in his bed. (
She laughs
) I must have been an
absolute menace. How right they were to pack me off to school. Though, of course, I was furious at the time.

CARLA
. How much do you remember of it all?

ANGELA
. Of the actual happening? Curiously little. We'd had lunch—and then Caroline and Miss Williams went into the garden room, and then we all came in and Amyas was dead and there was telephoning, and I heard Elsa screaming somewhere—on the terrace, I think with Caroline. I just wandered about, getting in everyone's way.

CARLA
. I can't think why
I
don't remember anything. After all, I was five. Old enough to remember
something.

ANGELA
. Oh, you weren't there. You'd gone away to stay with your godmother, old Lady Thorpe, about a week before.

CARLA
. Ah!

ANGELA
. Miss Williams took me into Caroline's room. She was lying down, looking very white and ill. I was frightened. She said I wasn't to think about it—I was to go to Miss Williams' sister in London, and then on to school in Zurich as planned. I said I didn't want to leave her—and then Miss Williams chipped in and said in that authoritative way of hers—(
she mimics Miss Williams
) “The best way you can help your sister, Angela, is to do what she wants you to do without making any fuss.” (
She sips her brandy
)

CARLA
. (
amused
) I know just what you mean. There's something about Miss Williams which makes you feel you've just got to go along with her.

ANGELA
. The police asked me a few questions, but I didn't know why. I just thought there had been some kind of accident, and that Amyas had taken poison by mistake. I was abroad when they arrested Caroline, and they kept it from me as long as they could. Caroline wouldn't let me go and see her in prison. She did everything she could to keep me out of it all. That was just like Caroline. She always tried to stand between me and the world.

CARLA
. She must have been very fond of you.

ANGELA
. It wasn't that. (
She touches her scar
) It was because of this.

CARLA
. That happened when you were a baby.

ANGELA
. Yes. You've heard about it. It's the sort of thing that happens—an older child gets mad with jealousy and chucks something. To a sensitive person, like Caroline, the horror of what she had done never quite left her. Her whole life was one long effort to make up to me for the way she had injured me. Very bad for
me
, of course.

CARLA
. Did you ever feel vindictive about it?

ANGELA
. Towards Caroline? Because she had spoiled my beauty? (
She laughs
) I never had much to spoil. No, I never gave it a second thought.

(
CARLA
picks up her bag from the seat beside her, takes out a letter and hands it to Angela
)

CARLA
. She left a letter for me—I'd like you to read it.

(
There is a pause as
ANGELA
reads the letter.
CARLA
stubs out her cigarette
)

I'm so confused about her. Everyone seems to have seen her differently.

ANGELA
. She had a lot of contradictions in her nature. (
She turns a page and reads
) “. . . want you to know that I did not kill your father.” Sensible of her. You might have wondered. (
She folds the letter and puts it on the table
)

CARLA
. You mean—you believe she
wasn't
guilty?

ANGELA
. Of course she wasn't guilty. Nobody who knew Caroline could have thought for one moment that she was guilty.

CARLA
. (
slightly hysterical
) But they do—they all do—except you.

ANGELA
. More fool they. Oh, the evidence was damning enough, I grant you, but anybody who knew Caroline well should know that she couldn't commit murder. She hadn't got it in her.

CARLA
. What about . . . ?

ANGELA
. (
pointing to her scar
) This? How can I explain? (
She stubs out her cigarette
) Because of what she did to me, Caroline was always watching herself for violence. I think she decided that if she was violent in speech she would have no temptation to violence in action. She'd say things like, “I'd like to cut So-and-so in pieces and boil him in oil.” Or she'd say to Amyas, “If you go on like this, I shall
murder
you.” Amyas and she had the most fantastic quarrels, they said the most outrageous things to each other. They both loved it.

CARLA
. They
liked
quarreling?

ANGELA
. Yes. They were that kind of couple. Living that way, with continual rows and makings up, was their idea of fun.

CARLA
. (
sitting back
) You make everything sound different. (
She picks up the letter and puts it in her bag
)

ANGELA
. If only
I
could have given evidence. But I suppose the sort of thing I could have said wouldn't count as evidence. But you needn't worry, Carla. You can go back to Canada and be quite sure that Caroline
didn't
murder Amyas.

CARLA
. (
sadly
) But then—who did?

ANGELA
. Does it matter?

CARLA
. Of course it matters.

ANGELA
. (
in a hard voice
) It must have been some kind of accident. Can't you leave it at that?

CARLA
. No, I can't.

ANGELA
. Why not?

(
CARLA
does not answer
)

Is it a man? (
She sips her brandy
)

CARLA
. Well—there is a man, yes.

ANGELA
. Are you engaged?

(
CARLA
,
slightly embarrassed, takes a cigarette from her packet
)

CARLA
. I don't know.

ANGELA
. He minds about this?

CARLA
. (
frowning
) He's very magnanimous.

ANGELA
. (
appreciatively
) How bloody! I shouldn't marry him.

CARLA
. I'm not sure that I want to.

ANGELA
. Another man? (
She lights Carla's cigarette
)

CARLA
. (
irritably
) Must everything be a man?

ANGELA
. Usually seems to be. I prefer rock paintings.

CARLA
. (
suddenly
) I'm going down to Alderbury tomorrow. I want all the people concerned to be there. I wanted you as well.

ANGELA
. Not me. I'm sailing tomorrow.

CARLA
. I want to re-live it—as though I were my mother and not myself. (
Strongly
)
Why
didn't she fight for her life?
Why
was she so defeatist at her trial?

ANGELA
. I don't know.

CARLA
. It wasn't like her, was it?

ANGELA
. (
slowly
) No, it wasn't like her.

CARLA
. It
must
have been one of those four other people.

ANGELA
. How persistent you are, Carla.

CARLA
. I'll find out the truth in the end.

ANGELA
. (
struck by Carla's sincerity
) I almost believe you will. (
She pauses
) I'll come to Alderbury with you. (
She picks up her brandy glass
)

CARLA
. (
delighted
) You will? But your boat sails tomorrow.

ANGELA
. I'll take a plane instead. Now, are you sure you won't have some brandy? I'm going to have some more if I can catch his eye. (
She calls
) Waiter!

CARLA
. I'm
so
glad you're coming.

ANGELA
. (
sombrely
) Are you? Don't hope for too much. Sixteen years. It's a long time ago.

ANGELA
drains her glass as the
LIGHTS
dim to
BLACK
-
OUT
and
—

the
CURTAIN
falls

ACT TWO

SCENE
—
Alderbury, a house in the West of England.

The scene shows a section of the house, with the Garden Room
R
and the terrace
L
with communicating french windows between them. The room is at an angle, so that the terrace extends and tapers off below it to
R
.
Doors back
C
,
in the room, and at the upstage end of the terrace, lead to the house. An exit, at the upstage end of a vine-covered pergola
L
,
leads to the garden. There is another door down
R
in the room. Above this door is a small alcove with shelves for decorative plates and ornaments. A console table stands under the shelves. There is a table
L
of the door
C
,
on which there is a telephone and a carved wooden head. On the wall above the table is the portrait of Elsa, painted by Amyas. There is a sofa
R
of the door
C
,
with a long stool in front of it. Armchairs stand
R
and
L
,
and there is an occasional table
L
of the armchair
R
.
There is a stone bench
C
of the terrace.

When the
CURTAIN
rises, the stage is in darkness, then the
LIGHTS
come up to show the house shrouded in darkness and the terrace bathed in moonlight. The long stool is on the sofa and both are covered with a dust sheet. The armchairs are also covered with dust sheets. The window curtains are closed. After a few moments, voices are heard off up
C
.

CARLA
. (
off
) Which way do we go?

MEREDITH
. (
off
) This way, mind that little step. (
He is heard to stumble
) I always used to fall over it.

JUSTIN
. (
off; stumbling
) Good heavens! Shall I leave the door?

MEREDITH
. (
off
) Few things as depressing as an unlived-in house. I do apologize.

(
MEREDITH
enters up
C
and the
LIGHTS
on the room snap up. He wears an overcoat, and has an old fishing hat, pulled down. He moves down
R
.
CARLA
follows Meredith on. She wears a loose coat and a head scarf. She moves
L
.
JUSTIN
enters last. He carries his bowler hat. He moves down
C
,
turns and looks around the room
)

This is what we call the garden room. Cold as a morgue. Looks like a morgue, too, doesn't it? (
He laughs and rubs his hands
) Not that I've ever seen the inside of a—hum . . . I'll just remove these. (
He goes to the sofa and removes the dust sheet
)

JUSTIN
. Let me help you. (
He moves to
L
of the sofa and takes the dust sheet from Meredith
)

(
CARLA
moves to the armchair
L
and removes the dust sheet which she gives to Justin
)

MEREDITH
. This bit of the house has been shut up, you see, ever since . . . (
He indicates the long stool on the sofa
) Ah, that's an old friend. (
He takes the stool from the sofa
) Let me see, I think it went somewhere there. (
He places the stool
RC
) It's sad, somehow. It was so alive, once, and now it's dead.

(
CARLA
sits on the left end of the stool and looks at the portrait
)

CARLA
. Is that the picture?

MEREDITH
. What? Yes. Girl in a yellow shirt.

CARLA
. You left it here?

MEREDITH
. Yes. I—somehow couldn't bear to look at it. It reminded me too much . . . (
He recollects himself, crosses to the french windows and opens the curtains
)

CARLA
. How she's changed.

MEREDITH
. (
turning
) You've seen her?

CARLA
. Yes.

MEREDITH
. (
crossing to the armchair
R
and removing the dust sheet
) I haven't seen her for years.

CARLA
. She's beautiful still. But not like that. So alive and triumphant—and young. (
She draws a breath and faces front
) It's a wonderful portrait.