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_ ACT I - SCENE II
CLARA, followed by JOAN, comes through the wood. CLARA is dressed in a long, rich cloak and wears a bonnet that is brightly trimmed with feathers and ribbons. JOAN wears a cotton bonnet and small shawl. She carries her mistress's silken bag over her arm.
CLARA.
[Pointing to the fallen tree.]
There is the very resting place for us. We will sit down under the trees for a while.
[She seats herself.]
JOAN.
[Dusting the tree with her handkerchief before she sits on it.]
Have we much further to go, mistress?
CLARA.
Only a mile or two, so far as I can remember.
JOAN.
'Tis rough work for the feet, down in these parts, mistress.
CLARA.
If London roads were paved with diamonds I'd sooner have my feet treading this rugged way that leads to home.
JOAN.
What sort of a place shall we find it when we gets there, mistress.
CLARA.
I was but seven when I left them all, Joan. And that is fourteen years ago to-day.
JOAN.
So many years may bring about some powerful big changes, mistress.
CLARA.
But I dream that I shall find all just as it was when I went away. Only that Gran'ma won't be there.
[There is a short silence during which CLARA seems lost in thought. JOAN flicks the dust off her shoes with a branch of leaves.]
JOAN.
'Tis the coaches I do miss down in these parts.
CLARA.
I would not have driven one step of the way this morning, Joan. In my fancy I have been walking up from the village and through the wood and over the meadows since many a day. I have not forgotten one turn of the path.
JOAN.
The road has not changed then, mistress?
CLARA.
No. But it does not seem quite so broad or so fine as I remembered it to be. That is all.
JOAN.
And very likely the house won't seem so fine neither, mistress, after the grand rooms which you have been used to.
JOAN.
What company shall we see there, mistress?
CLARA.
Well, there's Thomas, he is my brother, and Emily his wife. Then the two children.
CLARA.
[After a short silence, and as though to herself.]
And there was George.
JOAN.
Yes, mistress
CLARA.
Georgie seemed so big and tall to me in those days. I wonder how old he really was, when I was seven.
JOAN.
Would that be a younger brother of yours, like, mistress
CLARA.
No, George minded the horses and looked after the cows and poultry. Sometimes he would drive me into market with him on a Saturday. And in the evenings I would follow him down to the pool to see the cattle watered.
JOAN.
I'm mortal afeared of cows, mistress. I could never abide the sight nor the sound of those animals.
CLARA.
You'll soon get over that, Joan.
JOAN.
And I don't care for poultry neither, very much. I goes full of fear when I hears one of they old turkey cocks stamping about.
CLARA.
[Pulling up the sleeve of her left arm.]
There, do you see this little scar? I was helping George to feed the ducks and geese when the fierce gander ran after me and knocked me down and took a piece right out of my arm.
JOAN.
[Looking intently on the scar.]
I have often seen that there mark, mistress. And do you think as that old gander will be living along of the poultry still?
CLARA.
I wish he might be, Joan.
JOAN.
What with the cows and the horses and the ganders, we shall go with our lives in our hands, as you might say.
CLARA.
[As though to herself.]
When the days got colder, we would sit under the straw rick, George and I. And he would sing to me. Some of his songs, I could say off by heart this day.
JOAN.
[Looking nervously upward.]
O do look at that nasty little thing dropping down upon us from a piece of thread silk. Who ever put such a thing up in the tree I'd like to know.
CLARA.
[Brushing it gently aside.]
That won't hurt you--a tiny caterpillar.
JOAN.
[After a moment.]
What more could the farm hand do, mistress?
CLARA.
He would clasp on his bells and dance in the Morris on certain days, Joan.
JOAN.
'Tis to be hoped as there'll be some dancing or something to liven us all up a bit down here.
CLARA.
Why, Joan, I believe you're tired already of the country.
JOAN.
'Tis so powerful quiet and heavy like, mistress.
CLARA.
'Tis full of sounds. Listen to the doves in the trees and the lambs calling from the meadow.
JOAN.
I'd sooner have the wheels of the coaches and the cries upon the street, and the door bell a ringing every moment and fine gentlemen and ladies being shewn up into the parlour.
CLARA.
[Stretching out her arms.]
O how glad I am to be free of all that. And most of all, how glad to be ridded of one person.
JOAN.
His lordship will perhaps follow us down here, mistress.
CLARA.
No, I have forbidden it. I must have a month of quiet, and he is to wait that time for his answer.
JOAN.
O mistress, you'll never disappoint so fine a gentleman.
CLARA.
You forget that Lord Lovel and I have played together as children. It is as a brother that I look upon him.
JOAN.
His lordship don't look upon you as a sister, mistress.
CLARA.
[Rising.]
That is a pity, Joan. But see, it is getting late and we must be moving onwards.
[JOAN rises and smoothes and shakes out her skirt.]
CLARA.
Here, loosen my cloak, Joan, and untie the ribbons of my bonnet.
JOAN.
O mistress, keep the pretty clothes upon you till you have got to the house.
CLARA.
No, no--such town garments are not suited to the woods and meadows. I want to feel the country breeze upon my head, and my limbs must be free from the weight of the cloak. I had these things upon me during the coach journey. They are filled with road dust and I dislike them now.
JOAN.
[Unfastening the cloak and untying the bonnet.]
They are fresh and bright for I brushed and shook them myself this morning.
CLARA.
[Retying a blue ribbon which she wears in her hair.]
I have taken a dislike to them. See here, Joan, since you admire them, they shall be yours.
JOAN.
Mine? The French bonnet and the satin cloak?
CLARA.
To comfort you for the pains of the country, Joan.
JOAN.
O mistress, let us stop a moment longer in this quiet place so that I may slip them on and see how they become me.
CLARA.
As you will. Listen, that is the cuckoo singing.
JOAN.
[Throwing off her cotton bonnet and shawl and dressing herself hastily in the bonnet and cloak.]
O what must it feel like to be a grand lady and wear such things from dawn to bed time.
CLARA.
I am very glad to be without them for a while. How good the air feels on my head.
JOAN.
There, mistress, how do I look?
CLARA.
Very nicely, Joan. So nicely that if you like, you may keep them upon you for the remainder of the way.
JOAN.
O mistress, may I really do so?
CLARA.
Yes. And Joan, do you go onwards to the farm by the quickest path which is through this wood and across the high road. Anyone will shew you where the place is. I have a mind to wander about in some of the meadows which I remember. But I will join you all in good time.
JOAN.
Very well, mistress. If I set off in a few moments it will do, I suppose? I should just like to take a peep at myself as I am now, in the little glass which you carry in your silk bag.
CLARA.
[Going off.]
Don't spend too much time looking at what will be shewn you, Joan.
JOAN.
Never fear, mistress. I'll be there afore you, if I have to run all the way.
[CLARA wanders off.]
[JOAN sits down again on the trunk of the fallen tree. She opens the silken bag, draws out a small hand glass and looks long and steadily at her own reflection. Then she glances furtively around and, seeing that she is quite alone, she takes a small powder box from the bag and hastily opening it, she gives her face several hurried touches with the powder puff.]
JOAN.
[Surveying the effect in the glass.]
Just to take off the brown of my freckles. Now if any one was to come upon me sitting here they wouldn't know as I was other than a real, high lady. All covered with this nice cloak as I be, the French bonnet on my head, and powder to my face, who's to tell the difference? But O--these must be hid first.
[She perceives her cotton bonnet and little shawl on the ground. She hastily rolls them up in a small bundle and stuffs them into the silken bag. Then she takes up the glass and surveys herself again.]
JOAN.
How should I act now if some grand gentleman was to come up and commence talking to me? Perhaps he might even take me for a lady of title in these fine clothes, and 'twould be a pity to have to undeceive him.
[She arranges her hair a little under the bonnet and then lowers the lace veil over her face.]
[MILES and LUKE come slowly up behind her. MILES nudges LUKE with his elbow, signing to him to remain where he is whilst he steps forward in front of JOAN.]
MILES.
Pardon me, madam, but you appear to have mistook the way. Allow me to set you on the right path for Ox Lease.
JOAN.
[Letting the mirror fall on her lap and speaking very low.]
How do you know I am going to Ox Lease, sir?
MILES.
You see, madam, I happen to know that a stylish young miss from town is expected there to-day.
LUKE.
[Coming forward and speaking in a loud whisper.]
Now Miles. I count as you made one of the biggest blunders of the time. Our young lady be journeying along of her servant wench. This one baint she.
MILES.
If we have made a small error, madam, allow me to beg your pardon.
JOAN.
Don't mention it, sir. Everyone is mistaken sometimes.
LUKE.
Well, I'm powerful sorry if we have given any offence, mam.
JOAN.
[Looking up at LUKE with sudden boldness and speaking in a slow, affected voice.]
There's nothing to make so much trouble about, sir.
MILES.
Can we be of any assistance to you, madam? The wood may appear rather dense at this point.
JOAN.
That it does. Dense and dark--and the pathway! My goodness, but my feet have never travelled over such rough ground before.
Muss. That I am sure of, madam. I have no doubt that the delicate texture of your shoes has been sadly treated by our stones and ruts.
JOAN.
[Insensibly pulling her skirts over her thick walking shoes.]
Well, it's vastly different to London streets, where I generally take exercise--at least when I'm not a-riding in the coach.
MILES.
The country is but a sad place at the best, Miss Clara Spring.
JOAN.
[Looking round furtively and speaking in a whisper.]
O, how did you guess my--my name?
LUKE.
Come, 'twasn't a hard matter, that.
MILES.
Missey can command my services.
JOAN.
[Rallying, and standing up.]
Then gentlemen, do you walk a bit of the road with me and we could enjoy some conversation as we go along.
LUKE.
[Offering his arm.]
You take my arm, Miss Clara--do--.
MILES.
[Also offering his arm.]
I shall also give myself the pleasure of supporting Miss.
JOAN.
[Taking an arm of each.]
O thank you, kindly gentlemen. Now we shall journey very comfortably, I am sure.
[They all set out walking in the direction of the farm.] _
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