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The Great Adventure, a play by Arnold Bennett |
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Act 3 Scene 2 |
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_ ACT III SCENE II [TIME. Before daylight on a morning in February. Fire burning in grate. Also a speck of gas. Otherwise it is dark.] [CARVE is discovered reposing-in an easy-chair. Enter JANET with a candle.]
CARVE. (Stiffly.) Oh yes; had an excellent night in this chair. JANET. (Going to fire.) Now, you're only boasting. If you've had such an excellent night (imitating him), who's kept up such an excellent fire? CARVE. (Lamely.) Well, of course I looked after it now and then. I didn't want to perish in my solitude. JANET. Then why didn't you come to bed, great baby? CARVE. (Sitting up with solemnity.) Janet, we are a pair of great babies to have quarrelled like that,--especially at bedtime. JANET. (Simply.) Quarrelled? CARVE. Well, didn't we? JANET. I didn't. I agreed with everything you said. CARVE. What did you agree with? I should like to know. JANET. You said I didn't really believe after all that you are Ilam Carve, and I assured you in the most soothing manner that I did believe you are Ilam Carve! CARVE. And do you call that agreeing with me? I know perfectly well from your tone that in spite of all my explanations and reiterations during the last three months you don't believe I'm Ilam Carve. You only say you do in order to soothe me. I hate being soothed. You're as convinced as ever that Ebag is a rascal, and that I've got a bee in my bonnet. JANET. But what does it matter? CARVE. (Cold and hard.) Well, I like that! JANET. (Weeping.) It's not my fault if I don't believe you're Ilam Carve. I would if I could, but I can't! You're very cruel. CARVE. (Jumping up and embracing her.) Hush, hush! There! (Cajolingly.) Who's being an infant now? JANET. I don't pretend to understand this art. CARVE. I hope you never will. One of the chief charms of existence in your wigwam, my child, is that I never hear any confounded chatter about art. Now--are we pals? JANET. (Smiling reconciliation.) Darling, do turn the gas up. CARVE. (Obeying, struck by her attire.) Why--what are you dressed like that for? JANET. I was thinking of going away. (Exit, L.) (She re-enters immediately with kettle and puts it on fire.)
JANET. (Smiling.) Now do listen, darling. Let's go away. We can't stop here. This Ebag case is getting more and more on your nerves, and on mine too. I'm sure that's what's the matter with us. What it'll be next week when the trial comes on, I don't know--upon my soul I don't. It's all very well for you to refuse to see callers and never go out. But I can tell you one thing--we shall have those newspaper people on the roof in a day or two, and looking down the chimney to see how I lay the fire. Lawyers are nothing to them. Do you know--no you don't, because I didn't want you to be upset--last night's milk was brought by a journalist--with a camera. They're beginning to bribe the tradesmen. I tremble to think what will be in this morning's papers. CARVE. (Trying to make light of it.) Oh, nothing will upset me now. But you might let me know at once if the editor of the Spectator calls round with the bread. JANET. And I'll tell you another thing. That Mr. Horning--you know the breathless man on the Evening Courier that came to the Grand Babylon--he's taken lodgings opposite--arrived last night. CARVE. Oh, for a machine gun--one simple little machine gun! (Exit JANET, L.) [She immediately returns with a tray containing bread, etc., and a toasting-fork.]
CARVE. It's too late--I've had the subpoena. If I hooked it, everybody would say I was an adventurer. JANET. We could come back for the trial. CARVE. We should be followed. JANET. Not if we start now. CARVE. Now? JANET. Yes, now! The back door. Before it gets light. CARVE. Creep away in the dark! No! I'll go through with the thing. JANET. Well, I shall travel alone, then. Here's my bunch of keys. I'll just explain to you where everything is. I daresay Mrs. Simpson will come in and clean up. She's not bad, as charwomen go. CARVE. Jane! JANET. Well! CARVE. You're taking an unfair advantage of me. JANET. (Putting tea leaves in teapot.) What if I am? CARVE. You're only a woman after all.... And I'd thought so highly of you! JANET. (Sweetly.) Then you'll come. Better brush yourself up first. CARVE. What time is it? JANET. (Looking at clock.) Seven o'clock. CARVE. Where do you mean to drag me to? JANET. Well, what about this Continent of yours that I've heard so much of? CARVE. There's a train from Victoria at 8.30. JANET. Very well then. We'll have another breakfast at Victoria. CARVE. And the cab? JANET. There isn't going to be any cab--nor luggage--rousing the whole street! (CARVE goes to window.) For goodness' sake don't draw those curtains--with the gas flaring up! CARVE. Why not? JANET. (Conspiratorial.) Supposing there's some journalist on the watch outside! CARVE. I wanted to look at the weather. JANET. Well, go to the front door, and mind you open it quietly. (Exit CARVE, R.) (JANET pours water on tea.) (Exit, L.) (Re-enter CARVE quickly.)
(Re-enter JANET, L.)
CARVE. But I tell you he's here! (Enter JAMES SHAWN, L. Then enter JOHN SHAWN, R. Pause.) JAMES. Now let me entreat everybody to remain perfectly calm. JANET. Oh, don't worry about that. Nothing startles us now. A few curates more or less.... CARVE. (Sinking into chair.) I suppose this is the very newest journalism. Would you mind me asking a question? JAMES. What is it? (JANET makes the tea.)
JAMES. John, is mother there? JOHN. (At door, R.) Mother, how often shall I have to ask you to keep close to me? (Enter MRS. SHAWN, R.)
JOHN. (Firmly.) Come now, you mustn't give way. This is he (pointing to CARVE). Do you recognise him as our father? (JANET, who is cutting a slice of bread, stops and looks from one to the other.) MRS. S. (To CARVE.) Albert, don't you know me? To think that next Tuesday it'll be six and twenty years since you walked out o' the house casual like and--and--(Stops from emotion.) CARVE. Go on. Go on.... To think that I was once shy! JANET. (To MRS. SHAWN.) Here, you'd better come and sit a bit nearer the fire. (Very kindly.) Come along now! MRS. S. (Obeying.) Thank you, m'm. JANET. (To JOHN.) And which of you boys was it that had the idea of keeping a middle-aged woman perishing on a doorstep before daylight in February? JOHN. How else could we-- JAMES. (Interrupting him.) Excuse me, John. JOHN. (Subsiding.) I beg your pardon, James. JAMES. (To JANET.) All questions should be addressed to me. My brother John is here solely to take charge of our mother. We have done our best, by careful forethought, to ensure that this painful interview shall be as brief and as dignified as possible. JANET. And couldn't you think of anything cleverer than to give your poor mother her death of cold for a start? JAMES. How else could we have arranged it? I myself rang at your door for a quarter of an hour yesterday afternoon. JANET. We never heard you. JAMES. Strange! JANET. No, it isn't. We took the bell off three days ago. JAMES. I was told that it was impossible to effect an entrance in the ordinary way. Hence, we had to use craft. I argued that food must come into the house, and that it probably came in early. JANET. Well, it's a good thing for you I happened to hear the cat mewing, or you might have had another couple of hours in my back yard. You're the eldest, I suppose. JAMES. We are twins. JANET. Really! CARVE. As you say--really! JAMES. I am the older, but the difference between us is not considerable. JOHN. Now, mother, please don't cry. JANET. (Having poured out a cup of tea, holds it before MRS. SHAWN.) Sugar? (MRS. SHAWN signifies an affirmative--JANET drops sugar into cup, which MRS. SHAWN takes.) You'll drink it easier if you lift your veil. JAMES. Now, mother--you are sure you recognise this gentleman? MRS. S. (Not very positively.) Yes--yes. It's a rare long while.... JAMES. He is your husband and our father? MRS. S. (More positively.) Yes. And sorry I am to say it. (JANET eyes her carefully.) JAMES. I think that suffices. (To JANET.) Madam, you are in a most unfortunate position. You supposed yourself to be a married woman, whereas you are nothing of the kind. I needn't say that as the victim of a heartless bigamist you have our deepest.... JANET. (Handing him a slice of bread on toasting-fork.) Just toast this for your mother, will you, and mind the bars. I'll get another cup or two. (Goes to sideboard and gets crockery.) CARVE. And so these are my two sons! They show little emotion in beholding the author of their being for the first time. As for me, I hardly recognise them. MRS. S. And is it likely, seeing they were born six months after you deserted me, Albert? CARVE. I see. If it isn't indiscreet, am I a grandfather? JAMES. (Toasting.) No, sir. CARVE. I only wanted to know the worst. Silly joke about the fertility of curates--you've met with it, no doubt! JAMES. Your tone is simply lamentable, sir. JANET. (To JAMES.) Mind! You can do the other side. Now, take care; the fire's very hot. (In the same mild tone to MRS. SHAWN.) Twenty-six years, you say? MRS. S. Yes. Albert was twenty-two then, weren't you, Albert? CARVE. Undoubtedly. JANET. And how did you come to find us out at last? MRS. S. It was through an advertisement put in the paper by that Mr. Texel--him that's in this law case--offering a reward for information about a Mr. Albert Shawn who'd been valet to that artist man that died. JANET. Oh! So Mr. Texel has been advertising, has he? (Giving a cup of tea to JOHN SHAWN.) MRS. S. Yes, for anybody that knew Albert Shawn when he was young. "Albert Shawn," I says, "that's my husband's name." I'd been told he'd gone off in service with a painter or something of that kind. I married him as a valet. JANET. (Pouring out tea.) A valet? MRS. S. A valet, ma'am.... And the struggle I've had to bring up my children. (Whimpering.) JAMES. Now, mother! JANET. (Stopping JAMES.) That will do now! Give it me. (Taking toast and fork.) Here's some tea. Now don't pretend you've never seen a cup of tea before--you a curate! (JAMES accepts tea.)
JOHN. Mother, I beg----(MRS. SHAWN breaks down entirely.) Mother, I absolutely insist. You know you promised not to speak at all except in answer to questions. JAMES. I think, mother, you really might try---- JOHN. Leave her to me! Now, mother! (Loud double knock off.)
(Exit JOHN SHAWN, R.) (MRS. SHAWN recovers.)
JANET. (Who has been soothing MRS. SHAWN.) Me? What about? JAMES. About this--this bigamy. JANET. Oh, nothing. What are you thinking of doing? (Re-enter JOHN SHAWN with post, which CARVE takes and begins to read.) JAMES. Well, I suppose you're aware that bigamy is a criminal offence? JANET. There's a police-station in the Upper Richmond Road. Better call there. It'll be so nice for you two, when you're flourishing about in the pulpit, to think of your father in prison--won't it now? JAMES. We, of course, should not prosecute. If you are prepared to go on living with this gentleman as though nothing had happened-- JANET. Oh, I don't mind. JAMES. Well, then, I doubt if we should interfere. But Mr. Texel's lawyers are already in communication with the police. JANET. (Stiffly.) I see. (An awkward pause during which everybody except CARVE, who is reading his post, looks at everybody else.) Well, then, I think that's about all, isn't it? (A shorter pause.) Good-morning. (She bows to the curates, and shakes hands with MRS. SHAWN.) (To MRS. SHAWN.) Now do take care of yourself. MRS. S. (Weakly.) Thank you. JOHN. Good-morning. Mother, take my arm, please. JAMES. Good-morning. JANET. Albert, they're going. CARVE. (Looking up absently and only half rising, perfunctorily and quickly) Good-morning. Good-morning. (Sits down.) JANET. (To JAMES SHAWN, who is hovering near door L, uncertain of his way out.) This way, this time! (Exeunt the SHAWNS followed by JANET.) (CARVE rises and draws curtains of window apart) (Re-enter JANET.)
CARVE. (Gazing at her.) Incomparable woman! JANET. So it's true after all! CARVE. What? JANET. All that rigmarole about you being Ilam Carve? CARVE. You're beginning to come round at last? JANET. Well, I think they were quite honest people--those three. There's no doubt the poor creature once had a husband who did run off. And it seems fairly clear his name was Albert Shawn, and he went away as valet to an artist. But then, on the other hand, if there is one thing certain in this world, it is that you were never married before you married me. That I will swear to. CARVE. And yet she identified me. She was positive. JANET. Positive? That's just what she wasn't! And didn't you notice the queer way she looked at you as they went out? As much as to say, "I wonder now whether it is him--after all?" CARVE. Then you really think she could be mistaken on such a point? JANET. Pooh! After twenty-six years. Besides, all men of forty-seven look more or less alike.... And so I'm the wife of Ilam Carve that's supposed to be buried in Westminster Abbey and royalty went to his funeral! We'll have some tea ourselves. I say, why did you do it? (Pours out tea.) CARVE. (Casually.) I don't know. It was to save worry to begin with, and then it went on by itself and somehow I couldn't stop it.... I don't know! JANET. (Endearingly.) Well, I've always told you frankly you've got a bee in your bonnet. (Drinking tea and turning over the post.) More letters from these newspaper people! What's this lovely crest on this envelope? CARVE. It's from Lord Leonard Alcar. He says if we'll go up and see him to-morrow afternoon he'll be very much obliged indeed, and he may be able to be of assistance to us. JANET. (Deeply impressed.) Lord Leonard Al ... Where's the letter? (Searches for it hurriedly. As she reads it.) Well I never! (Reading) "And Mrs. Shawn." I've got nothing to go in. CARVE. Oh, I shan't go! JANET. Why not? CARVE. Well, what about this trip to the Continent? JANET. Continent fiddlesticks. I've never been asked to go and see a Lord before.... CARVE. Now listen, Jane. What earthly good can it do? I shan't go. JANET. I shall. So there! Six Dukes in the family! I wouldn't miss it for anything.
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