ACT I

 

 

SCENE I

 

 

 

    The downstairs front room of a moderate-sized cottage. There is a wide fireplace, with a heaped-up ashy fire. The parlour is used as a bedroom, and contains a heavy old-fashioned mahogany dressing-table, a washstand, and a bedstead whose canopy is missing, so that the handsome posts stand like ruined columns. The room is in an untidy, neglected condition, medicine bottles and sickroom paraphernalia littered about. In the bed, a woman between sixty and seventy, with a large-boned face, and a long plait of fine dark hair. Enter the parish NURSE, in uniform, but without cloak and bonnet. She is a well-built woman of some thirty years, smooth-haired, pale, soothing in manner.

 

 

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Eh, Nurse, I’m glad to see thee. I han been motherless while thou’s been away.

 

NURSE: Haven’t they looked after you, Mrs Hemstock?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: They hanna, Nurse. Here I lie, day in, day out, like a beetle on my back, an’ not a soul comes nigh me, saving th’ Mester, when ‘e’s forced. An’ ‘im. (She points to mirror of dressing-table.)

 

NURSE: Who is that, Mrs Hemstock?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Canna ter see ‘im? That little fat chap as stands there laughing at me.

 

NURSE: There’s no little fat chap, Mrs Hemstock.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: There is an’ a’. He’s bobbing a’ thee now.

 

NURSE, who has been rolling up her sleeves, showing a fine white arm, throws her rolled cuffs at the mirror.

 

NURSE: Then we’ll send him away.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Nay, dunna thee hurt him. ‘E’s nowt but a little chap!

 

NURSE: I’ll wash you, shall I?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Tha nedna but gi’ me a catlick. I’m as snug as a bug in a rug.

 

NURSE (laughing): Very well.

 

She goes into the kitchen.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK (calling): Who’s in there, Nurse?

 

NURSE: There’s nobody, Mrs Hemstock.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: I bet he’s gallivanting off after some woman.

 

NURSE (calling): Who?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Why, our Mester. ‘E’s a ronk ‘un, I can tell you. ‘As our Harry done it?

 

NURSE: Done what, Mrs Hemstock?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Cut ‘is throat. ‘E’s allers threatenin’!

 

NURSE (entering with a jug of hot water): What! You’re not serious, Mrs Hemstock.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Aren’t I? But I am. An’ ‘e’ll do it one o’ these days, if ‘e’s not a’ready. I ‘avena clapped eyes on him for five days.

 

NURSE: How is that?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Eh, dunna ax me. ‘E niver comes in if ‘e can ‘elp it.

 

NURSE: How strange! Why is it, do you think?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Summat’s gen ‘im mulligurles. ‘E’ll not live long.

 

NURSE: What! Harry? He’s quite young, and has nothing the matter, has he?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: You know, Nurse, I ‘as a fish inside me. I wor like Jonah back’ards. I used ter feel it floppin’ about in my inside like a good ‘un, an’ nobody’d get it out —

 

NURSE: But Harry hasn’t got a fish in his inside —

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: ‘E ‘asna — but I believe ‘e’s got a leech.

 

NURSE: Oh!

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Dunna thee wet my ‘air, Nurse — it ma’es it go grey.

 

NURSE (smiling): Very well, I’ll be careful. But what makes you say Harry has a leech in his inside?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: On ‘is ‘eart. ‘Asn’t ter noticed ‘e gets as white-faced as a flat fish? It’s that.

 

NURSE: Oh, and did he swallow it?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: ‘E didna. ‘E bred it like a mackerel’s head breeds maggots.

 

NURSE: How dreadful!

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: When you’ve owt up with you, you allers breed summat.

 

NURSE: And what was up with Mr Hemstock?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: With our Mester?

 

NURSE: With Harry.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: You knowed, didna you, as ‘e’d had ructions wi’ Rachel Wilcox?

 

NURSE: No.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Oh, yes. ‘E fell off ‘is bike eighteen month sin’, a’most into her lap, an’ ‘er’s been sick for ‘im ever sin’.

 

NURSE: But he didn’t care for her?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: I dunno. ‘E went out wi’ ‘er for about twelve month — but ‘e never wanted ‘er. ‘E’s funny, an’ allers ‘as been.

 

NURSE: Rather churlish?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: No — ’e wor allers one o’ the’ lovin’ sor’ when ‘e wor but a lad, ‘d follow me about, and “mammy” me.

 

NURSE: But he got into bad ways —

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Well, I got sick of him stormin’ about like a cat lookin’ for her kittens, so I hustled him out. ‘E began drinkin’ a bit, an’ carryin’ on. I thought ‘e wor goin’ to be like his father for women. But ‘e wor allers a mother’s lad — an’ Rachel Wilcox cured him o’ women.

 

NURSE: She’s not a nice girl.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: ‘E’d only ter stick ‘is ‘ead out of the door an’ ‘er’d run like a pig as ‘ears the bucket. ‘Er wor like a cat foriver slidin’, rubbin’ ‘erself against him.

 

NURSE: How dreadful!

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: But I encouraged ‘er. I thought ‘e wor such a soft ‘un, at ‘is age, a man of thirty!

 

NURSE: Was he always quiet?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Eh, bless you. ‘E’d talk the leg off an iron pot, once on a day. But now, it’s like pottering to get a penny out of a money box afore you can get a word from ‘im edgeways.

 

NURSE: And he won’t come to see you.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Not him! ‘E once had a rabbit what got consumption, an’ ‘e wouldn’t kill it, nor let me, neither would he go near it, so it died of starvation, an’ ‘e throwed a hammer at me for telling him so. You see — harsh! That’s our Mester.

 

NURSE: Yes. Do I hurt you? They’ve let your hair get very cottered.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Get it out, Nurse — never mind me.

 

Enter MR HEMSTOCK, a very white-haired old man, clean-shaven, with brown eyes. There is a certain courtliness in his quiet bearing.

 

MR HEMSTOCK: I’m glad to see you back, Nurse — very glad. (He bows by instinct.)

 

NURSE: Thank you, Mr Hemstock. I’m pleased to see you again.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK (to her husband): Tha’rt not ‘alf as glad to see her as I am. ‘Ere I lie from hour to hour, an’ niver a sound but cows rumblin’ and cocks shoutin’. An’ where dost reckon tha’s been? Tha’s been slivin’ somewhere like a tomcat, ever sin’ breakfast.

 

MR HEMSTOCK (to NURSE): I’ve been gone ten minutes. (To his wife.)I’ve on’y been for a penn’orth of barm ter ma’e thee some barm dumplings.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: An’ wheer’s our Harry?

 

MR HEMSTOCK: He’s in garden, diggin’.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: What are ter out o’ breath wi’?

 

MR HEMSTOCK: I’ve been runnin’ our Susy’s kids. They was drivin’ our fowls again.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Tha shouldna ha’ wanted ter come here, a mile away from anybody but our Susy.

 

NURSE: It is rather lonely — only Mrs Smalley’s farm and your cottage. And the children are rather wild.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Let me live in a street. What does colliers want livin’ in country cottages, wi’ nowt but fowls an’ things shoutin’ at you or takin’ no notice of you, as if you was not there?

 

MR HEMSTOCK (to NURSE): We came for the garden.

 

NURSE: I suppose you are still on strike.

 

MR HEMSTOCK: There’s talk of settlement. I see they’re opening some of the pits. But I’ve done, you know.

 

NURSE: Of course you have, Mr Hemstock. Harry will be glad to begin, though.

 

MR HEMSTOCK: I’m afraid whether ‘e’ll get a job. You see —

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: What hast got for dinner?

 

MR HEMSTOCK: Roast pork, rushes, barm dumplings.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Then look slippy about gettin’ it ready. I’m clammin’. Ha’ thy heels crack.

 

MR HEMSTOCK (to NURSE): You wouldn’t think she’d been bedfast thirteen month, would you?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Tha nedna ha’e none o’ thy palaver wi’ Nurse. Nurse, ta’e no notice o’ a word ‘e says. (HEMSTOCK goes out.)

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: He’s a good cook, and that’s all you can say for him.

 

NURSE: I think he’s very good to you, Mrs Hemstock.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: He’s too busy runnin’ after a parcel o’ women to be good to me.

 

NURSE: If all men were as good —

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Tha’s niver had him to put up wi’. Tha’s niver been married, ‘as ter?

 

NURSE: No, Mrs Hemstock.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: A man’s fair enough to you’ face — if ‘e’s not as fow as a jackass; but let you’ back be turned, an’ you no more know what’s in his breeches an’ waistcoat than if ‘e wor another man.

 

NURSE: Oh, Mrs Hemstock!

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Yes, an’ tha’ll “oh” when tha knows.

 

NURSE: I’m sure you’re getting tired. Won’t you have your bed made?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Sin’ it’s gone that long, it might easy go a bit longer.

 

NURSE: Why, when was it made last?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: How long has thee been gone away?

 

NURSE: Three weeks.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Then it’s that long.

 

NURSE: Oh, what a shame! Wouldn’t Mrs Smalley do it?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Our Susy! ‘Er’d better not show ‘er face inside that door.

 

NURSE: What a pity she’s so quarrelsome! But you will have it made?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: I know tha’ll whittle me to death if I dunna. Does tha like roast pork?

 

NURSE: Fairly. Now, shall I lift you onto the couch?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: No, tha wunna. I want na droppin’ an’ smashin’ like a pot. I’m nowt but noggins o’ bone, like iron bars in a paper bag. Eh, if I wor but the staunch fourteen stone I used to be.

 

NURSE: You’ve been a big woman.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: I could ha’ shadowed thee an’ left plenty to spare. How heavy are ter, Nurse?

 

NURSE: I don’t know — about ten and a half stone. Will Mr Hemstock lift you, then?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: I say, Nurse — just look under the bed, atween th’ bed slats at th’ bottom corner, an’ see if tha can see th’ will.

 

NURSE (doubtful): What! (She stoops dubiously.)

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Right hand corner. I told the doctor to put it there. Canna ter see it?

 

NURSE: Oh, yes, here it is. (She reappears with an envelope.)

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: That’s it — it’s fastened safe. It’s a new will, Nurse. I made ‘em do it while tha wor away — doctor and Mr Leahy.

 

NURSE: Oh, yes —

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: An’ I’m not goin’ ter ha’e none on ‘em gleggin’ at it. I know our Susy often has a bit of a rummage, but I’m sharper than ‘er thinks for.

 

NURSE: And what shall I do with it, Mrs Hemstock?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Why, get upon th’ table, an’ look if there isna a hole in top o’ the bedpost, at th’ head there, where a peg used ter fit in.

 

NURSE (climbing up): Yes, there is.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Then roll it up, an’ shove it in. On’y leave a scroddy bit out.

 

NURSE: That’s done it, then.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Tha’ll know where it is, then. Tha ought, tha’s been more to me than any of my own for these twelve month.

 

NURSE: Oh, Mrs Hemstock, I hope —

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Nay, tha nedna — tha’rt knowin’ nowt, I tell thee. How much dost reckon I’ve got, Nurse?

 

NURSE: I don’t know, Mrs Hemstock.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Over five hundred, I can tell thee. I made ‘em in a little shop as I had in Northrop when the colleries hadna started long — an’ I did well — an’ so did our Mester — an’ so ‘as th’ lads done —

 

NURSE: It is a good thing, for now they’re both out of work they’d have nothing.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Oh, our Harry’s got a bit of his own, an’ our Mester’s got about a hundred. It’ll keep ‘em goin’ for a bit, wi’out mine.

 

NURSE: You are queer, Mrs Hemstock.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Ha, that’s what they say about th’ Almighty — they canna ma’e Him out. But I’ll warrant He knows His own business, as I do.

 

NURSE: Oh, Mrs Hemstock.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Yes, an’ I want my bed makin’, dunna I? Shout our Harry. Harry! Harry!

 

After a moment, HARRY enters: a man of moderate stature, rather strongly built: dark hair, heavy, dark moustache, pale, rather hollow cheeks, dangerous-looking brown eyes. A certain furious shrinking from contact makes him seem young, in spite of a hangdog, heavy slouch.

 

HARRY (to his mother — in broad dialect): What’s want?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: I s’d think it is “What’s want” an’ I hanna set eyes on thee for pretty nigh a week. Tha’ll happen come to lie thyself, my lad, an’ then tha can think o’ me hours an’ hours by mysen.

 

HARRY: What’s want?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: An’ why art paddlin’ about in thy stockin’ feet for? Tha ‘asna gumption enough ter put thy slippers on, if ter’s been i’ th’ garden. Nurse, gi’ me a drop o’ brandy. (She lies back exhausted. NURSE administers.)

 

NURSE: Your mother wants lifting onto the couch, Mr Hemstock. (He comes forward.) Perhaps you will wash your hands in this water, will you — (He obeys sullenly.)

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Tha’d better wesh ‘em for ‘im, Nurse, ‘e’s nowt but a baby. ‘As ‘er catched thee yet? (He does not answer.) ‘E dursna go round th’ corner, Nurse, for fear of a bogey — durst ter, eh? ‘E’s scared to death of a wench, so ‘e goes about wi’ a goose.

 

A goose comes paddling into the room and wanders up to HARRY.

 

NURSE: Hullo, Patty! You dear old silly.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Dost like ‘er, Nurse?

 

NURSE: She’s a dear old thing.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Then tha’ll like him. He’s just the same: soft, canna say a word, thinks a mighty lot of himself, an’s scared to death o’ nowt.

 

NURSE: Oh, Mrs Hemstock!

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: I canna abide a sawney.

 

NURSE: Are you ready, Mr Hemstock?

 

He comes forward. NURSE wraps Mrs Hemstock in a quilt.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: To think as I should be crippled like this!

 

NURSE: Yes, it is dreadful.

 

HARRY lifts his mother — NURSE showing him how.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Tha’s got fingers like gre’t tree-roots.

 

NURSE shows him how to place his hands. Then she lifts the trailing quilt and follows him to the couch.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK (rather faintly): I canna abide to feel a man’s arms shiverin’ agen me. It ma’es me feel like a tallywag post hummin’.

 

NURSE: There, be still — you are upset. I’m sure Mr Hemstock did it gently.

 

She stoops and strokes Tatty, who is crouched near the bed. HARRY moves as if to go.

 

Will you fetch clean sheets and pillow slips — be quick, will you?

 

HARRY goes out. NURSE begins to make the bed.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Isna ‘e like that there goose, now?

 

NURSE: Well, I’m sure Patty’s a very lovable creature.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: I’m glad tha thinks so. It’s not many as can find in their heart to love a gaby like that.

 

NURSE: Poor Patty!

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: An’ that other hussy on’y wants him cause she canna get him.

 

NURSE: It’s often the case.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: It is wi’ a woman who’s that cunning at kissin’ an’ cuddlin’ that a man ‘ud run after ‘er a hundred miles for the same again.

 

NURSE: Is she clever, then?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: She melts herself into a man like butter in a hot tater. She ma’es him feel like a pearl button swimmin’ away in hot vinegar. That’s what I made out from ‘im.

 

NURSE: She’s not a nice girl.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: An’ ‘e hated her cause I shoved him at her.

 

NURSE: But you don’t care for her, surely.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Canna bear her. A pussy cat always rubbin’ ‘erself agen a man’s legs — an’ one o’ the quiet sort. But for all that, I should like to see him married afore I die. I dunna like, Nurse, leavin’ ‘im like ‘e is. ‘E wor my darlin’.

 

NURSE (softly): Yes.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: An’ ‘e niver wor a drunkard, but ‘e’s the makin’s of one.

 

NURSE: Surely not — oh, how dreadful!

 

Enter HARRY with bedding. He helps NURSE shake up and make the bed.

 

NURSE: How sweet the sheets are! They were aired on the currant bushes. Did Mrs Smalley wash them?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Our Susy! Not likely. She’d never do a hand’s turn. I expect our Harry there weshed ‘em — an’ ‘is father. Dunna look so; canna ter answer a bit of a question? (He does not answer.) ‘E looks as if ‘e’d swallowed a year o’ foul weather.

 

NURSE: Hem at the top. (She stumbles over Patty.) Oh, poor Patty — poor old bird! Come here then, you dear old thing — did I hurt you?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Tha’s more fondness for that goose than I han, Nurse. It’s too much like him. Birds of a feather flock together.

 

NURSE: You include me.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: If tha likes.

 

NURSE: It’s not a compliment.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: It isna. Tha’rt a lady, an’ han a lady’s time, an’ tha’rt a fool if tha changes.

 

NURSE: I am not so sure —

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Tha gets a good wage, an’ th’ minute tha enters a house everybody gets up to run about after thee. What more dost want?

 

NURSE: I don’t know.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: No, I s’d think tha doesna.

 

NURSE: Sometimes I get tired, and then — I wish — I wish I’d somebody to fad after me a bit. I nurse so many people, and —

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Tha’d like nursin’ thysen. Eh, bless you, a man’s knee’s a chair as is soon worn out.

 

NURSE: It’s not that — I should like a home of my own, where I could be private. There’s a lonely corner in most of us that not all the friends in the world can fill up —

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: And a husband only changes a lonely corner into a lonely house.

 

NURSE: Perhaps so. But I should like to be able to shut my own doors, and shut all the world out, and be at home, quiet, comfortable.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: You’d find you shut the door to stop folks hearing you crying.

 

NURSE (bending down and stroking Patty): Perhaps so.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Tha art fond o’ that bird.

 

NURSE (flushing): I am.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: If I wor thee, our Harry, I wouldna let Patty beat me, even.

 

HARRY: What dost mean?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Stroke him, Nurse — and say “Poor old Harry”.

 

NURSE: Mr Hemstock will have a grudge against me if you slate him so in my presence.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: And would it grieve thee?

 

NURSE: I should be sorry.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK (after a pause — vehemently): Ha, if he worn’t such a slow fool! Can thee lift me back, Nurse?

 

NURSE: Won’t you let Mr Hemstock — ?

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: No — thee do it.

 

Exit HARRY.

 

Did ter niver ha’e a sweetheart, Nurse?

 

NURSE: Yes — when I was in the hospital. He was a doctor.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: An’ where is he?

 

NURSE: He was too good for me, his mother said, and so —

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Tha’rt well rid o’ such a draggletail. How long is it since?

 

NURSE: Eight years.

 

MRS HEMSTOCK: Oh, so tha’rt none heartbroken. We’n got a new assistant. I like him better than the owd doctor. His name’s Foules.

 

NURSE: What!

 

 

 

CURTAIN

 

 

 

 

SCENE II

 

 

 

    Time: the same. The kitchen of HEMSTOCK’S house, a large, low, old-fashioned room. Fowls are pecking on the floor. HARRY, in a coarse apron, is washing the floor. MR HEMSTOCK, at the table, is mixing flour in a bowl.

 

MR HEMSTOCK: Who wor that scraightin’ a bit sin’?

 

HARRY: Our Susy’s kid.

 

MR HEMSTOCK: What for?

 

HARRY: I fetched him a wipe across th’ mouth.

 

MR HEMSTOCK: There’s more bother then —

 

HARRY: He was settin’ that dog on th’ fowls again.

 

MR HEMSTOCK: We s’ll be having her round in a tear, directly, then.

 

HARRY: Well, I’m not —

 

There is a knock: and in the open doorway at the back a little, withered, old clergyman, the BARON, is seen.

 

BARON: How is the sick woman this morning? (He speaks with a very foreign German accent.)

 

MR HEMSTOCK: I think she’s middlin’, thank you.

 

BARON: I will go and see her, and speak to her.

 

HARRY: We’ve told you a dozen times ‘er na wants you.

 

BARON: It is my duty that I shall go —

 

HARRY (rising from his knees): Tha are na — !

 

BARON: I am the vicar of this parish. I am the Baron von Ruge. I will do my duty —

 

HARRY (confronting him): Tha’rt na goin’ to bother her. Her na wants thee.

 

BARON: Stand clear of my way, sir — I will go, I will not be barred, I will go to her, I will remind her —

 

HARRY (frustrating his efforts): ‘Er na wants thee —

 

He suddenly moves: the BARON rushes into Patty. The goose flaps and squawks and attacks him. The BARON retreats hastily. Enter NURSE.

 

NURSE: Whatever is the matter?

 

MR HEMSTOCK: It’s Patty haulin’ the Baron out —

 

NURSE: Oh dear — how dreadful!

 

MR HEMSTOCK: ‘E’s bin plenty of times, an’ every time our Harry tells ‘im as Missis won’t be bothered wi’ him —

 

NURSE: What a pity she won’t see him. Don’t you think if you let him go —

 

HARRY: Ask ‘er thysen if ‘er wants ‘im — an’ if ‘er doesna want ‘im, ‘e’s na goin’ —

 

NURSE: But what a pity — !

 

MR HEMSTOCK: You can’t make heads or tails of what ‘e says. I can’t think what they want wi’ a bit of a German Baron bein’ a vicar in England — in this country an’ a’, where there wants a bluff man.

 

NURSE: He’s a Polish nobleman, Mr Hemstock, exiled after fighting for his country. He’s a brave man, and a good gentleman. I like him very much.

 

MR HEMSTOCK: He treats you as if you was dirt, an’ talks like a chokin’ cock —

 

HARRY: An’ ‘e’s na goin’ pesterin’ ‘er when ‘er doesna want ‘im.

 

NURSE: Well, of course you know best — but don’t you think Mrs Hemstock ought to see a minister? I think —

 

Enter the BAKER, a big, stout, pale man of about forty.

 

BAKER: Been havin’ a shindy with the Baron?

 

MR HEMSTOCK: He wants to see the Missis, an’ we not let him.

 

BAKER: You’d best keep th’ right side of ‘im. (He swings his large basket, which he carries sackwise on his shoulder, down to a chair.) The strike is settled, an’ th’ men’s goin’ back on the old terms.

 

NURSE: Oh, I’m so glad.

 

BAKER: Fisher’s a deep ‘un. The Company’ll know yet as they’ve got a manager.

 

NURSE (to HARRY): So you’ll be going back to work soon, Mr Hemstock. You will be glad.

 

MR HEMSTOCK: Me — I s’ll never work again. An’ it’s doubtful as our Harry won’t get on —

 

BAKER: They gave you a place before the strike, didn’t they, where you had to work you inside out for about fifteen shillings a week?

 

HARRY: Ha.

 

He goes out.

 

MR HEMSTOCK: Yes, they treated him very shabbily.

 

BAKER: I bet it was th’ owd Baron. He’s a good hand at having your eye for a word, an’ your tooth for a look. I bet Harry’ll get no job —

 

MR HEMSTOCK: No, I’m afraid ‘e wunna. The Baron will go down to Fisher —

 

BAKER: And Harry can go down to — his godfather, eh, Nurse?

 

NURSE: I don’t understand.

 

BAKER: Old Harry.

 

MR HEMSTOCK: I hope to goodness ‘e will get something to do, else ‘e’ll mope himself into the cut, or the ‘sylum, afore long.

 

BAKER: Oh, it’s love what’s upset him, isn’t it? Rachel Wilcox was too much for his stomach —

 

MR HEMSTOCK: I dunno what it is.

 

BAKER: She’s a bit of a ronk ‘un. She was his first cigar, an’ it’s left him sick yet. She’s not half bad, you know, if you can stand ‘em strong.

 

NURSE goes out.

 

I’ve scared Nurse off. — But Harry’s got a bit of a thin stomach, hasn’t he? Rachel’s not a half bad little ha-p’orth.

 

MR HEMSTOCK: Some’s got a stomach for tan-tafflins, an’ some ‘ud rather ha’e bread an’ butter —

 

BAKER: And Rachel’s creamy — she’s a cream horn of plenty — eh, what?

 

MR HEMSTOCK: A bit sickly.

 

BAKER: I dunno — it ‘ud take a lot o’ rich food to turn me. How many — ?

 

MR HEMSTOCK: One of yesterday’s bakin’, please.

 

BAKER sets the loaf on the table.

 

BAKER: Your Susy wa’nt in — I wonder what she wants. Where is she, do you know?

 

MR HEMSTOCK: She’ll be somewhere lookin’ after th’ land.

 

BAKER: I reckon she makes a rare farmer.

 

MR HEMSTOCK: Yes.

 

BAKER: Bill left the place in a bit of a mess —

 

MR HEMSTOCK: A man as drinks himself to death —

 

BAKER: Ay! She wishes she’d had me astead of him, she says. I tell her it’s never too late to mend. He’s made the hole, I’ll be the patch. But it’s not much of a place, Smalley’s farm — ?

 

MR HEMSTOCK: It takes her all her time to manage an’ pay off Bill’s debts.

 

BAKER: Debts — why, I thought from what she said —

 

Enter SUSY SMALLEY, a buxom, ruddy, bold woman of thirty-five, wearing thick boots and a dark blue milkmaid bonnet.

 

MRS SMALLEY: Wheer’s our Harry?

 

MR HEMSTOCK: I dunno. ‘E went out a bit sin’ —

 

MRS SMALLEY: An’ wheer is ‘e? I’ll let him know whether he’s —

 

Enter HARRY.

 

Oh, I’ve foun’ thee, have I? What dost reckon tha’s been doin’ to my lad?

 

HARRY: Tha nedna ha’ hunted for me. I wor nobbut i’ th’ garden.

 

BAKER: You should ha’ looked in th’ parsley bed, Susy.

 

MRS SMALLEY: That’s wheer to find babies — an’ I’ll baby him. What did thee hit my lad for?

 

HARRY: Ask thysen.

 

MRS SMALLEY: I’m axin’ thee. Tha thinks because I hanna a man to stand up for me, tha can —

 

HARRY: There’s a lot o’ helpless widder about thee!

 

MRS SMALLEY: No, an’ it’s a good thing I’m not helpless, else I should be trod underfoot like straw, by a parcel of —

 

HARRY: It’s tha as does th’ treadin’. Tha’s trod your Bill a long way underfoot — six foot or more.

 

BAKER: It’s a fat sight deeper than that afore you get to blazes.

 

MRS SMALLEY: Whatever our Bill was or wan’t, ‘e was not a’ idle skilk livin’ on two old folks, devourin’ ‘em.

 

NURSE (entering): Oh, think of your mother, Mrs Smalley.

 

MRS SMALLEY: I s’ll think of who I like —

 

BAKER: An’ who do you like, Susy?

 

MRS SMALLEY: You keep your “Susy” to yourself —

 

BAKER: Only too glad, when I get her —

 

MRS SMALLEY: An’ we don’t thank Nurse Broadbanks for interferin’. She only comes carneyin’ round for what she gets. Our Harry an’ her’s matched; a pair of mealy-mouthed creeps, deep as they make ‘em. An’ my father’s not much better. What all of ‘em’s after’s my mother’s money.

 

NURSE: Oh, for shame, for shame!

 

HARRY: Shut thy mouth, or I’ll shut it for thee.

 

MRS SMALLEY: Oh, shall you? I should like to see you. It’s as much as you durst do to hit a child, you great coward, you kid.

 

MR HEMSTOCK: Shut it up, now, shut it up!

 

MRS SMALLEY: But I’ll let him know, if he touches my child again; I’ll give him what for. I’ll thrash him myself —

 

BAKER: That’s your brother, not your husband.

 

MRS SMALLEY: I will an’ a’. Him an’ his blessed fowls! ‘E’s nobbut a chuck himself, as dursn’t say boh to a goose, an’ as hides in th’ water-butt if his girl comes to see him —

 

HARRY dashes forward as if to strike her. The BAKER interposes.

 

BAKER: Here, none o’ that, none o’ that!

 

MRS SMALLEY: A great coward! He thinks he’ll show Nurse Broadbanks what he is, does he? I hope she’ll storm round him after this bit.

 

HARRY (in a fury): If tha doesn’t —

 

MR HEMSTOCK: Let’s have no more of it, let’s have no more of it —

 

BAKER: How much bread, Mrs Smalley? I reckon your Bill bettered himself when he flitted — what? I don’t think. How many loaves? I saved you a crusty one.

 

MR HEMSTOCK: She’s crust enough on her —

 

BAKER: Oh, I like ‘em a bit brown. Good morning, everybody.

 

He swings up his basket and follows MRS SMALLEY out.

 

NURSE: How shameful to make a disturbance like that!

 

MR HEMSTOCK: We never have a bit of peace. She won’t do a hand’s turn in the house, and seems as if she can’t bear herself because we manage without her.

 

HARRY: She’s after the money.

 

NURSE: How dreadful! You are a strange family.

 

She goes into the parlour again, and keeps coming in and out with water ewer and so on. MR HEMSTOCK flourishes his balls of dough. HARRY puts on the saucepan.

 

MR HEMSTOCK: Dost think Job Arthur will marry our Susy?

 

HARRY: No.

 

MR HEMSTOCK: He seems to hang round her a good bit. Your mother often says he lets his bread get stale stoppin’ there.

 

HARRY: If ‘e married ‘er, ‘e’ll settle her.

 

MR HEMSTOCK: Yes — he’s all there.

 

HARRY: All but what he’s short to pay his debts.

 

He goes out.

 

NURSE: I think I’ve done everything, Mr Hemstock.

 

She begins packing her black bag.

 

MR HEMSTOCK: Could you wait half a minute while I go — to Goddard’s?

 

NURSE: Well — ten minutes.

 

The old man takes a jar from the cupboard, and puts on his hat. At the door he meets the doctor, a clean-shaven fair man rather full at the stomach and low at the chest.

 

DR FOULES: Good morning, Mr Hemstock — you are going out?

 

MR HEMSTOCK: For a second, Doctor, just to the shop.

 

DR FOULES: I see. Then shall I go in?

 

MR HEMSTOCK: Oh, yes, Doctor.

 

DR FOULES: Thank you.

 

He enters. NURSE is just putting on her bonnet. The doctor stands confused.

 

NURSE (low and purring): Good morning.

 

DR FOULES: Nurse Broadbanks!

 

NURSE (low): Yes — just fancy.

 

DR FOULES: Well. I am surprised. Who ever —

 

NURSE: I knew it was you. No other doctor would have been so polite about entering the house.

 

DR FOULES: Well — I can hardly find words — I am sure —

 

NURSE: Fancy your keeping your old shyness.

 

DR FOULES (flushing): I don’t know that I do —

 

NURSE: I should have thought it would have worn off — all the experience you have had.

 

DR FOULES: Have I had so much experience?

 

NURSE: Eight years.

 

DR FOULES: Ah, Nurse, we don’t measure experience by years.

 

NURSE: Surely, you have a quotation!

 

DR FOULES (smiling): No, I have not — for a wonder. Indeed I’m growing out of touch with literature.

 

NURSE: I shall not know you. You used to be —

 

DR FOULES: Vox, et præterea nihil. “A voice, and nothing more.”

 

NURSE: You are yourself. But you have not had much experience, in eight years?

 

DR FOULES: Not much has happened to me.

 

NURSE: And you a doctor!

 

DR FOULES: And I a doctor!

 

NURSE: But you have lost your old æsthetic look — wistful, I nearly said.

 

DR FOULES: Damnosa quid non imminuit dies? “Whom has not pernicious time impaired?”

 

NURSE: Not your stock of learning, evidently.

 

DR FOULES (bowing): Nor your wit, Nurse. Suum cuique. You have not — ?

 

NURSE: What?

 

DR FOULES: You have not — married?

 

NURSE: Nurse Broadbanks.

 

DR FOULES: Of course — ha ha — how slow of me. Verbum sat sapienti.

 

NURSE: And you — ?

 

DR FOULES: What, Nurse?

 

NURSE: Married?

 

DR FOULES: No, Nurse, I am not. Nor, if it is anything to your satisfaction, likely to be.

 

NURSE: Your mother is still alive?

 

DR FOULES (bowing): Rem acu tetigisti. “You have pricked the point with your needle.”

 

NURSE: I beg your pardon.

 

DR FOULES: Do not, I beg, do not.

 

NURSE: Semper idem — I know so much Latin.

 

DR FOULES: In what am I always the same, Nurse?

 

NURSE: Well — your politeness.

 

DR FOULES: Suaviter in modo, fortiter in re. My old motto, you remember.

 

NURSE: I do not know the English for it.

 

DR FOULES: “Gentle in manner, resolute in deed.”

 

NURSE: In what deed, may I ask, Doctor?

 

DR FOULES: You may ask, Nurse. I am afraid I cannot tell you. And I, may I ask what you have done?

 

NURSE: Worked enough to be rather tired, Doctor — and found the world full of friends.

 

DR FOULES: Non multa sed multum. “Not many things, but much,” Nurse. I could not say so much.

 

NURSE (laughing): No?

 

DR FOULES: Quid rides? “Wherefore do you laugh?”

 

NURSE: She lives with you here?

 

DR FOULES: My mother? Yes.

 

NURSE: It will always be said of you — ”He was a good son.”

 

DR FOULES: I hope so, Nurse.

 

NURSE: Yes — it is the best.

 

DR FOULES (softly): You look sad.

 

NURSE: Not on my own behalf, Doctor.

 

DR FOULES: On mine, Nurse?

 

NURSE (reluctantly): No, not quite that.

 

DR FOULES: Tædium vitæ — all unresolved emotions and sicknesses go under that “weariness of life”.

 

NURSE: Life? Doctor — do we get enough life to be weary of it? Work, perhaps.

 

DR FOULES: It may be — but —

 

NURSE: You don’t want life.

 

DR FOULES (smiling): Not much. I see too much of it to want it.

 

NURSE: Your mother will, I hope, live long enough to save you from experience.

 

DR FOULES: I hope it is a good wish, Nurse.

 

NURSE: Do you doubt it?

 

DR FOULES: Will you come and see us, Nurse?

 

NURSE: And see your mother?

 

DR FOULES: And see my mother, Nurse. (He bows.)

 

NURSE (smiling): Thank you — I will.

 

Enter HARRY — he stands rather confused in the doorway.

 

DR FOULES: Good morning, Mr Hemstock. How is Mrs Hemstock this morning?

 

HARRY: ‘Er’s pretty middlin’, I believe.

 

Enter MR HEMSTOCK.

 

DR FOULES: I have just discovered that Nurse and I are old friends.

 

MR HEMSTOCK: I am glad of that —

 

DR FOULES: Thank you.

 

NURSE: Dr Foules used to be my sweetheart.

 

MR HEMSTOCK: You don’t mean it!

 

DR FOULES: Is it so long ago, Nurse, that you jest about it?

 

NURSE: I do not jest, Doctor. You are always to be taken very seriously.

 

DR FOULES (bowing): Thank you.

 

NURSE (to HARRY): Where did I leave my galoshes, Mr Hemstock?

 

HARRY: I’ll fetch ‘em.

 

He brings them in.

 

NURSE: How good of you to clean them for me!

 

They all stand watching while NURSE pulls them on.

 

DR FOULES: “A world full of friends,” Nurse.

 

NURSE: Mr Hemstock and I are very good friends — are we not, Mr Hemstock?

 

HARRY: I dinna know — you know best — ’appen we are.

 

DR FOULES: You are repudiated, Nurse.

 

NURSE: Twice! You shouldn’t have begun it.

 

DR FOULES: I am very sorry. It is never too late to mend.

 

NURSE: We’ve heard that before this morning. I must go.

 

DR FOULES: You will come and see us — soon.

 

NURSE: I am at your disposal, Doctor. Good day, everybody.

 

ALL: Good day, Nurse.

 

DR FOULES: Well, I will see how Mrs Hemstock is.

 

He goes out.

 

MR HEMSTOCK: He’s a nice fellow.

 

HARRY: Hm!

 

MR HEMSTOCK: Fancy he used ter court Nurse! I shouldna be surprised if they got together again.

 

HARRY: It doesna matter to me whether ‘er does or not.

 

MR HEMSTOCK: No, it na matters to us — on’y I should like to see her settled wi’ a decent chap. She’s a good woman for any man. If I’d a been thy age —

 

HARRY: Wi’ that other hangin’ round — an’ no work to do — tha’s ha’ done wonders.

 

MR HEMSTOCK: T’other — tha’s gin ‘er the sack — an’ tha can get work elsewhere.

 

HARRY: Dost think ‘er’d ha’e me! (He laughs contemptuously.)

 

There is a noise of yelping and crying. The men stand and listen.

 

MR HEMSTOCK: It’s that dog! — An’ Nurse!

 

HARRY rushes out. There is a great yelping and ki-yi-ing, a scream from NURSE. Immediately NURSE enters, carrying Patty, who flaps in a torn and gory state. HARRY follows. NURSE, panting, sets down Patty.

 

MR HEMSTOCK: Whatever —

 

HARRY (flushing in fury): Has it hurt thee — did it touch thee?

 

NURSE: Me!

 

HARRY: I’ll break its neck.

 

NURSE: Oh — don’t be —

 

HARRY: Where did it touch thee? There’s blood on thee.

 

NURSE: It’s not me, it’s Patty.

 

HARRY: ‘Appen tha non knows — ’appen it catched thee. Look at thy arm — look there!

 

NURSE: No — I’m not hurt, I’m sure I’m not.

 

HARRY: I’ll break its neck, the brute.

 

NURSE: It had got hold of poor Patty by the wing — poor old bird.

 

HARRY: Look at thy cuffs. I’ll break its neck.

 

NURSE: No — oh no, don’t go out — no — get me some warm water, will you — and I’ll see to Patty.

 

HARRY brings a bowl of warm water. NURSE takes bandaging from her bag.

 

MR HEMSTOCK: It’s been at her before.

 

NURSE (to HARRY): You look after her other wing — keep her still — poor old bird — (She proceeds to dress the wounded wing.)

 

MR HEMSTOCK: She’d be alright, Nurse, without you bothering.

 

NURSE: The idea — poor old thing!

 

MR HEMSTOCK: We’ve been many time worse hurt at pit, an’ not half that attention.

 

NURSE: But — you see, you’re not geese.

 

HARRY: We’re not of as much count.

 

NURSE: Hand me the scissors, please — you don’t know what you are —

 

DR FOULES enters and stands in doorway.

 

MR HEMSTOCK: I keep telling him, if he set more stock by himself other folks ‘ud think better of him.

 

NURSE: They might know him a little better if he’d let them.

 

DR FOULES: I see my help is superfluous.

 

NURSE: Yes, Doctor — it’s one of the lower animals.

 

DR FOULES: Ah —

 

 

 

CURTAIN

 

 

 

 

ACT II

 

 

SCENE I

 

 

 

    The same evening. The HEMSTOCKS’ kitchen, with the lamp lighted. The BAKER and HARRY sit with glasses of whisky.

 

 

 

BAKER: An’ tha doesn’t want ‘er?

 

HARRY: I heave at the sight of her.

 

BAKER: She’ll ha’e a bit o’ money, I reckon.

 

HARRY: She’s got to wait till old Hezekiah cops out, first.

 

BAKER: Hm! That’ll be a long time yet — if he doesn’t get married again. They say he’s hankerin’ after Nurse.

 

HARRY: ‘Er’ll niver ha’e ‘im.

 

BAKER: Too old. But what hast got against Rachel?

 

HARRY: Nowt — but I heave wi’ sickness at the thought of ‘er.

 

BAKER: Hm! I like one as’ll give as much as she takes.

 

HARRY: Sight more.

 

BAKER: It depends who’s who.

 

HARRY: I can never make out why she went in service at the vicarage.

 

BAKER: Can’t you? I’ve had many a nice evening up there. Baron an’ Baroness go to bed at nine o’clock and then — Oh, all the girls know the advantage of being at the vicarage.

 

HARRY: Oh — an’ does she ha’e thee up in the kitchen?

 

BAKER: Does she not half.

 

HARRY: I thought she wor so much struck on me!

 

BAKER: You wait a minute. If she can’t feed i’ th’ paddock she’ll feed at th’ roadside. Not but what she’s all right, you know.

 

HARRY: I do know.

 

BAKER: She’s not got the spirit of your Susy. By Jove, she’s a terror. No liberties there.

 

HARRY: Not likely.

 

BAKER: They say Bill left ‘er in debt.

 

HARRY: He did.

 

BAKER: Hm! She’ll have a long pull, then, to get it paid off.

 

HARRY: She’s a-waitin’ for my mother’s money.

 

BAKER: Is she likely to get much?

 

HARRY: Happen a couple o’ hundred — happen nowt.

 

BAKER: Depends on the will?

 

HARRY: Yes.

 

BAKER: A couple of hundred. . . .

 

HARRY: About that apiece, we should ha’e.

 

BAKER: Hm! You’ve seen the will?

 

HARRY: No — my mother takes good care o’ that.

 

BAKER: Then none of you know? But you’ve some idea.

 

HARRY: We hanna. My mother’s funny — there’s no tellin’ what ‘er might do.

 

BAKER: Hm! She might leave the money away from her own children?

 

HARRY: I shouldna be a bit surprised.

 

BAKER: Hm! An’ your Susy —

 

MRS SMALLEY (entering): What about your Susy?

 

BAKER: Hello!

 

MRS SMALLEY: You’re stoppin’ a precious long time. Where might you be bound to-night?

 

BAKER: Not far.

 

MRS SMALLEY: No further than the vicarage, an’ that’s two closes off. But Rachel’ll be givin’ you up.

 

BAKER: ‘Appen so.

 

MRS SMALLEY: Then she’ll be tryin’ her chances down here.

 

BAKER: I wish her luck.

 

HARRY (going out): I’ll go an’ get a bit o’ bacca.

 

MRS SMALLEY: An’ what do you call luck?

 

BAKER: Which do you reckon is a lucky-bag, me or your Harry?

 

MRS SMALLEY: You’re both about as good: he’s only got a little bunged-up whistle in him, an’ many a hand’s ferreted in you an’ fetched out what’s worth havin’.

 

BAKER: So I’m not worth havin’?

 

MRS SMALLEY: No, you’re not, that’s flat.

 

BAKER: So you wouldn’t have me?

 

MRS SMALLEY: You’re giving yourself away, are you?

 

BAKER (incisively): No, I’m not.

 

MRS SMALLEY: Indeed. And what’s your figure, may I ask?

 

BAKER: A couple of hundred, to you; to anyone else, more.

 

MRS SMALLEY: Thank you for the offer — very kind of you, I’m sure. And how much is it to Rachel?

 

BAKER: Two hundred an’ fifty.

 

MRS SMALLEY: Oh! So I’m worth fifty pound to you, am I — after I’ve put my two hundred down. Ready money?

 

BAKER: Six months bill.

 

MRS SMALLEY: You are a swine.

 

BAKER: Do you accept?

 

MRS SMALLEY: You are a pig! You’d eat cinders if you could get nowt else.

 

BAKER: I should. I’d rather have you than any of the boiling; but I must, I must, have —

 

MRS SMALLEY: Two hundred?

 

BAKER: Not less.

 

MRS SMALLEY: Six months bill.

 

BAKER: Six months bill.

 

MRS SMALLEY: I hope you’ll get it.

 

BAKER: I intend to.

 

MRS SMALLEY (after a speechless moment): You are a devil when you’ve had a drop.

 

BAKER: Am I a dear one?

 

MRS SMALLEY: Do you call yourself cheap?

 

BAKER: What do you think? I was always one of the “take it or leave it” sellers.

 

MRS SMALLEY: I think you imagine yourself worth a great sight more than you are.

 

BAKER: Hm! I should have thought you’d have found the figure easy. And I’ve always said I’d rather it was you than anybody.

 

MRS SMALLEY: You was mighty slow, then, once on a day.

 

BAKER: I was a young cock-sparrow then — common — but wouldn’t die in a cage.

 

MRS SMALLEY: An’ what do you reckon you are now?

 

BAKER: I’m an old duck that knows “dilly-dilly”!

 

MRS SMALLEY: “Come and be killed.”

 

BAKER: Scatter me a bit of golden corn — two hundred — and you may wring my neck.

 

MRS SMALLEY: You must have an empty crop.

 

BAKER: A few pebbles that’ll digest me if I don’t —

 

MRS SMALLEY: Debts?

 

BAKER: I said pebbles.

 

MRS SMALLEY: You’re a positive fiend in drink.

 

BAKER: But what about — ?

 

Enter RACHEL, a tall, pale girl, with dark circles under her eyes. She has a consumed look, as if her quiet pallor smothered a fire. She wears a servant’s cap and apron covered by a large dark shawl. She enters softly.

 

RACHEL: I thought I heard you two.

 

MRS SMALLEY (startled): You might knock!

 

RACHEL: Were you talking secrets?

 

BAKER: Have you come to look for me, Rachel?

 

RACHEL (cuttingly): You think a mighty lot of yourself.

 

BAKER: Have a drop of Scotch? No? How’s that? There’s Harry’s glass — drink out of that.

 

RACHEL: You’re very clever at giving away what’s not your own. Give me yours.

 

BAKER: I’ve not finished with it — but you can drink with me. Here!

 

RACHEL: No, thank you.

 

BAKER (softly, smiling): Why, what has offended you?

 

RACHEL: Nothing, indeed.

 

BAKER: That’s alright. I don’t like you to be offended. As a sign of good luck. (She sips.) Thanks. I’m sorry I’m late.

 

RACHEL: You’re not there yet, so you can’t be late.

 

BAKER: Yes, I am there. What farther have I to go?

 

RACHEL (singing):

 

    “You’ve got a long way to go,

    You’ve got a long way to go,”

 

MRS SMALLEY (singing in a masculine voice):

 

    “Before you get hold of the donkey’s tether

    You’ve got a long way to go.”

 

BAKER (singing in a fine bass):

 

    “If I had an ass and he wouldn’t go,

    Would I wallop him? Oh, dear no!

    I’d give him some corn and say ‘Gee whow,

    Neddy, stand still while I mount, oh ho!’“

 

MRS SMALLEY: He’s the donkey.

 

BAKER: Who doesn’t make an ass of himself sometimes?

 

MRS SMALLEY: And we’ve got to give him some corn.

 

BAKER: For you’ll never catch him to get hold of his tail — salt’s no good.

 

MRS SMALLEY: How much corn? Tell her.

 

BAKER: Two hundred — and fifty — golden grains. No more.

 

RACHEL: What’s up with him to-night?

 

MRS SMALLEY: Oh, he’s had a drop, an’ it always sets him on edge. He’s like a razor. When he’s had a drop, if you stroke him you cut yourself a-two.

 

RACHEL: Goodness!

 

BAKER: Rachel, I’d sell my immortal soul for two hundred — and fifty — golden sovereigns.

 

RACHEL: I’m not buying immortal souls, thanks.

 

BAKER: With this (He spreads out his hands.) — this paper and string to wrap it in.

 

RACHEL: An’ a nice parcel of goods you are!

 

BAKER: I’m a lucky bag, Rachel. You don’t know all that’s in me, yet.

 

RACHEL: And what is that, pray?

 

BAKER: I don’t know myself. But you shall have leave to rummage me. (He throws open his arms.) Look! (He rises from his chair, as it were superbly. He is a fine, portly, not unhandsome man. He strikes a “superb” attitude.) Look, Rachel. For two hundred and fifty pounds, three months bill, I am (He bows.) your slave. You shall (He speaks with cynical sincerity.) bring down my head as low as you like (He bows low.), I swear it, and I never swore a lie.

 

RACHEL: But what do you want two hundred and fifty pounds for?

 

HARRY (entering): Has Nurse come?

 

BAKER: Not yet. Are you going to finish your glass? It has taken me all my time to stop the women sipping from it.

 

RACHEL: Story! You know I wouldn’t —

 

BAKER: Hush! Don’t be rash now, or you’ll hate me to-morrow.

 

RACHEL: And should you care?

 

BAKER: I am willing to give you full rights over my immortal soul and this paper and string —

 

MRS SMALLEY: For two hundred down —

 

BAKER (bowing — then looking to RACHEL): And fifty, Mrs Smalley.

 

RACHEL: What do you think of it, Susy? Is it a bargain?

 

BAKER (setting his cap on the back of his head and pulling on a large overcoat — he is well dressed): We have not struck hands yet.

 

MRS SMALLEY (to RACHEL): What do you say?

 

RACHEL: Nay, I want to hear what you say.

 

MRS SMALLEY: I’m going to say nowt, yet a while —

 

RACHEL: Well, we’ll see. (She pulls her shawl over her head to follow him.)

 

BAKER: Nay — I’m going down Northrop — on business.

 

RACHEL: Wasn’t you coming up?

 

BAKER: To the vicarage? I had this to tell you; that is all.

 

RACHEL: Well, I must say — but come up just for —

 

BAKER: Not for a moment, Rachel. I am going down Northrop.

 

MRS SMALLEY: It’s no good you saying nothing, Rachel. You might as well save your breath.

 

BAKER (smiling to RACHEL): You hear? I’ll see you in the morning. Good night all.

 

Exit BAKER.

 

RACHEL (looking after him): I hate him.

 

MRS SMALLEY: I’m going home.

 

She hurries out. There is an awkward pause. HARRY sits bending over the fire.

 

RACHEL: How is your mother?

 

HARRY: Same.

 

RACHEL: Who’s with her?

 

HARRY: Dad.

 

RACHEL: Where’s Patty?

 

HARRY: Cupboard.

 

RACHEL: When do you expect Nurse?

 

HARRY: Dunno.

 

RACHEL: Have you been drinking whisky? (No answer.) Are you going to leave these glasses for Nurse to see? (No answer.) Are you going to let her see you drinking? (No answer.) Well, I do reckon you might speak to a body. I’ve not spoke to you for a week — hardly seen you. I can see you in your garden from the vicarage front bedrooms. I often watch you. Do you want your glass?

 

HARRY: Gi’e’s it here!

 

RACHEL: You might say thank you. Job Arthur Bowers wants me to marry him. And I shouldn’t be surprised if I did. (She cries.)

 

HARRY: Well, tha nedna scraight.

 

RACHEL: No — I mun only cry when I’m by myself. (Sobs.) I’m sure I’m sobbing half the night. (She cries.) Do you sleep bad? You do get up early — I can see your candle at half-past three, and you don’t know how it frightens me.

 

HARRY: What’s it frighten thee for?

 

RACHEL: I don’t know. I feel frightened, for you seem so funny nowadays.

 

HARRY: ‘As ter on’y just foun’ it out?

 

RACHEL: You know I’ve told you about it many a time.

 

HARRY: A sight too often.

 

RACHEL: You are horrid. What have I done? Tell me.

 

HARRY: I’m non goin’ to be made shift of. Tha’rt non goin’ ter ma’e a spitton of me, ter spit the taste of somebody else out of thy mouth into.

 

RACHEL: Well, if I’ve been hateful, you’ve drove me to it — haven’t you?

 

HARRY: I’ve told thee, I dunna want thee.

 

RACHEL: An’ I went into service, so’s I’d have something to do — an’ so’s I should be near — when —

 

HARRY: Go on — an’ so’s — an’ so’s an’ so’s — I’m thy spitton, tha can spit owt inter me.

 

RACHEL: You’re right, you’re full o’ sawdust.

 

HARRY (showing his teeth): What?

 

RACHEL: Sawdust, like a dummy. You’ve no more life in you.

 

HARRY (in a passion): What! What!

 

RACHEL: Sawdust.

 

HARRY (springing and seizing her by the shoulders): I’ll settle thee!

 

RACHEL: You’ve been drinking.

 

HARRY (shouting): I’ll settle thee, if I hang for it!

 

RACHEL: You’re hurting me!

 

HARRY (quietly): Come here. (He binds her in her large shawl.)

 

RACHEL: Oh! What are you doing?

 

HARRY: I’ll ha’e thee now, I will. (He seats her in the big armchair, strapping her with a leather belt he takes from his waist.)

 

RACHEL (quietly): Have you gone mad?

 

HARRY: Now then — answer me! Did ter court Bill Naylor a’ the time as thou wert goin’ wi’ me?

 

RACHEL: No.

 

HARRY (his fist close to her eyes — loudly): Trewth!

 

RACHEL: Yes.

 

HARRY: Did ter tell him I used ter shout out that somebody wor coming if thou wanted to kiss me?

 

RACHEL: Yes.

 

HARRY: An’ as I was allers swallerin’ my spittle for fright?

 

RACHEL: Yes.

 

HARRY: An’ I wor like a girl, as dursn’t look thee atween the eyes, for all I was worth?

 

RACHEL: Yes.

 

HARRY: An’ dursn’t I?

 

RACHEL: Yes — an’ don’t. (She closes her eyes.)

 

HARRY: What! An’ all t’other things about me as the pit was full of?

 

RACHEL: Oh, no! Oh, no!

 

HARRY: Yes, tha did!

 

RACHEL: No, oh no, Harry!

 

HARRY: An’ are ter courtin’ Job Arthur Bowers?

 

RACHEL: Oh!

 

HARRY: Scream, an’ I’ll squeeze thy head again’ that chair-back till it cracks like a nut.

 

RACHEL (whimpering): Oh dear, oh dear.

 

HARRY: It is “oh dear” — an’ it ‘as been for me “oh dear”. Listen ‘ere, tha brazend hussy. Tha keeps thy face shut when tha comes near me. Dost hear?

 

RACHEL: Yes.

 

HARRY: None o’ thy cheek, not another word, in future — or I’ll — what?

 

RACHEL: No.

 

HARRY: An’ dunna touch me till tha’rt axed. Not so much as wi’ thy frock. Dost hear?

 

RACHEL: Yes.

 

HARRY: What dost hear?

 

RACHEL: I mustn’t touch you.

 

HARRY: Not till thou’rt axed. An’ lu’ thee here, my lady — I s’ll brain thee if tha says a word to me — sithee? (He thrusts his fist in her face.)

 

RACHEL: Somebody will come — let me go, let me go!

 

HARRY: An’ what I’ve said, I mean — drunk or sover. Sithee?

 

RACHEL: Yes, Harry! Oh, let me go.

 

HARRY: I’ll let thee go. (He does so, slowly.) An’ tha can go wi’ who tha likes, an’ marry who tha likes, but if tha says a word about me, I’ll come for thee. There! (He unbinds her. She lays her hand on his sleeve.) No! (He shakes her off. She rises and stands dejectedly before him.) I hate thee now enough to strangle thee.

 

RACHEL (bursting into tears): Oh, you are —

 

HARRY: Now go wi’ who tha likes — get off.

 

RACHEL: You are —

 

HARRY: I want none o’ thee — go!

 

She is departing.

 

An’ ta’e thy shawl wi’ thee.

 

She, weeping, picks up her shawl.

 

An’ lap it round thee — it’s a raw night.

 

She does so. He speaks gently now.

 

Now go.

 

Exit RACHEL. HARRY pours himself another glass of whisky. He goes to the cupboard.

 

Patty! Pat!

 

He puts his face caressingly among the bird’s feathers.

 

We’ll settle her Pat — eh? We’ll stop her gallop. Hey, Pat!

 

He tosses the bird into the air wildly.

 

 

 

CURTAIN

 

 

 

 

SCENE II

 

 

 

    A few moments later. The road just outside the HEMSTOCKS’. Deep darkness: two cottage lights in the background. In the foreground, a large white swing gate leading from the farmyard into the road, a stile beside the gate. MRS SMALLEY leans against the big white gatepost. Enter RACHEL, drying her tears, from the background. She steps through the stile. SUSY moves.

 

 

 

RACHEL: Oh! Oh! Oh Harry!

 

MRS SMALLEY: It’s only me; shut up.

 

RACHEL: Oh, you did give me a turn, Susy!

 

MRS SMALLEY: Whatever’s up?

 

RACHEL: Nothing. Who are you looking for?

 

MRS SMALLEY: Nobody.

 

RACHEL: Has Job Arthur gone?

 

MRS SMALLEY: You saw him go.

 

RACHEL: Not that I care.

 

MRS SMALLEY: I bet you don’t. You carry on as if you don’t care. You do. You needn’t pretend to be so mighty struck on our Harry, you know it’s all sham.

 

RACHEL: It’s not, Susy. There’s no sham about it; I wish there was. He’s got his eye on Nurse, it’s my belief.

 

MRS SMALLEY: An’ she’s got her eye on my mother’s money, I know. She’s sniffing like a cat over a mouse hole, an’ cottoning on to our Harry.

 

RACHEL: She’s deep, she is — an’ he’d be as big as a lord for at the bottom he’s that stuck-up he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

 

MRS SMALLEY: I believe she knows something about the will.

 

RACHEL: Well, surely —

 

MRS SMALLEY: An’ from summat as my mother let drop, I’d be bound she’s in it, wi’ our Harry.

 

RACHEL: His mother always made me cheap in his eyes.

 

MRS SMALLEY: If I could get to know —

 

RACHEL: Doesn’t your Harry know?

 

MRS SMALLEY: How should I know what he knows?

 

RACHEL: My father’s pining for Nurse, the old fool. I wish he’d get her. His money might get her. I’ll buck him up.

 

MRS SMALLEY: I’ll get in her way wi’ our Harry as much as I can.

 

RACHEL: Alright. You are a bit gone on Job Arthur, aren’t you?

 

MRS SMALLEY: He should ha’ married me, by rights, twelve years back.

 

RACHEL: There’s something fascinating about him. Does he really want £250?

 

MRS SMALLEY: Yes.

 

RACHEL: I believe my father would give it me, if I got married to please him.

 

MRS SMALLEY: Alright, there’s your chance then.

 

RACHEL: You needn’t be nasty, Susy. I don’t want the chance.

 

MRS SMALLEY: You dodge round too many corners, like a ferret, you do.

 

RACHEL: At any rate, I’m not waiting for somebody to die and leave me bait to chuck to a fat fist of a fellow.

 

MRS SMALLEY: You’d better mind what you’re saying, Rachel Wilcox.

 

RACHEL: I don’t care about you. So there.

 

MRS SMALLEY: Doesn’t ‘er though? What about our Harry? I’ll let him know a thing or two.

 

RACHEL: It’s you as has been saying things, I know. You’ve been telling him about Job Arthur Bowers.

 

MRS SMALLEY: Oh, have I? You’re mighty clever.

 

RACHEL: You don’t need to be clever to see through you. But I’ll make you pay for it, my lady.

 

MRS SMALLEY: What? Come out here —

 

RACHEL: There’s the Baron — an’ they don’t know I’m out!

 

She runs into hiding as a lantern appears down the lane. SUSY draws after her.

 

SUSY: What’s he after?

 

RACHEL: Lovers. They hunt ‘em out every Monday night. Shut up now. (In a whisper.) Does my white apron show?

 

BARON: We haf done good work this night.

 

BARONESS (tall and spare, in an antique cloak and bonnet): Seven couples, Baron — and we have only been out an hour. Isn’t it terrible!

 

BARON: These miners are not men — they are animals that prowl by night.

 

BARONESS: The girls are worse, with their faces of brass. It is they who entice the young men into these naughty holes and crannies.

 

BARON: But if a man haf honour, will he not woo a maiden in her father’s house, in the presence of her family?

 

BARONESS: This is a parish of sin, Baron, the people love sin.

 

BARON: Defiant in sin, they are! But I will overthrow them. I will drive them before me into the pit.

 

BARONESS: To think of that brazen besom telling us to go home and go to bed —

 

BARON: And the man — ah, infamous, gross insult! And coward, to revile me that I have no child.

 

BARONESS: If they had a few less — and they born of sin — the low women! That is the house of the woman Hemstock. Have you seen her?

 

BARON: Not yet. I will not bury her, heathen and blasphemous woman. She shall not soil my graveyard of good dead. And those, her men folk, obstreperous and enemies of God, I will bow low their necks —

 

BARONESS: Hush, there are some — I believe there are — behind the gate —

 

BARON: More? Ah, misery, more than linked worms! Where? My dull eyes!

 

BARONESS: There — behind the gatepost —

 

BARON (holding aloft the candle): Lovers, if you be there, why do you suck at sin? Is this honour, you man? There is no one there, Baroness.

 

BARONESS: Yes, Baron, yes. I can see her apron. Who are you? Come out of there. You, girl, I see you. Come out, for shame. You do not know what you are doing; or, if you do, you are the depth of wickedness. (A titter is heard.)

 

BARON: Where is the man? Show yourself, sir. Let me see the man. You lurk, sir, in a hole like a rat. Ah, the disgrace of mankind.

 

BARONESS: What is going to become of you, girl? Go home, before it is too late. Go home and learn to do your housework.

 

BARON: You press into the boughs of the trees, but the boughs are the little arms of God. You hide youselves deep in the darkness, which is but the pupil of the eye of God. Ah, like a hot spark you fret the eye of God with your lust.

 

BARONESS: You will rue it this time next year, I tell you.

 

BARON: The face of the man is full of shame, it is afraid lest it fall under my eye.

 

He holds the lantern peering at the woman. The BARONESS hovers close behind. RACHEL pushes SUSY out upon the little man. The lantern is extinguished.

 

BARONESS: Oh, oh, come away, Baron, come away!

 

BARON: Ha! Ha! (His voice is screaming.) It is the attack! Stand behind me, Baroness, I defend you. (He ends on a high note, flourishing a stick he carries.) I have hit him! Ha! Come on!

 

MRS SMALLEY: You’ve hit me, you little swine.

 

BARON: Stand behind me, Baroness. I defeat this man — I — (He chokes with gutturals and consonants.)

 

MRS SMALLEY: Would you, you little swine!

 

BARON: I will thrash you — I will thrash you — low-bred knave, I will — (He sputters into German.)

 

MRS SMALLEY: Let me get hold on thee, I’ll crack thy little yed for thee.

 

BARONESS: Baron, Baron, they are murdering you!

 

BARON: Ah, my sword, my sword! Baroness, my sword! I keep him at bay with this stick.

 

MRS SMALLEY: I’ll show thee, the little nuisance, whether tha’rt ter hit me on the shoulder.

 

BARON: I have not my strength of old, if I had my sword he were killed.

 

BARONESS: Thy are murdering the Baron! Help! Help! Oh Baron —

 

RACHEL (suddenly rushing at her): Shut up, you old chuck! Shoo!

 

BARONESS (screaming): Baron! Rudolf, Rudolf! Oh-h — !

 

BARON (groaning): Ah, Baroness!

 

He turns. SUSY rushes through his guard and seizes his wrist.

 

MRS SMALLEY: I’ll have that stick!

 

BARON: The lady — the Baroness von Ruge, my wife, let me go to her!

 

MRS SMALLEY: Drop that stick, tha little — !

 

BARON: Little, little again! Ah, my sword to thee. Let go my wrists, foul one, base one, fight thus! (He lapses into a foreign fizzle.)

 

BARONESS (fleeing): Help, help, help!

 

RACHEL (catching her by the end of her long cloak and pulling her round backwards): Whoa, you’re going a bit too fast!

 

BARONESS: Whose voice is that? What? Oh-h — !

 

Enter NURSE.

 

NURSE (breathless): Whatever is the matter? Who is it?

 

MRS SMALLEY: Drop that stick, little lizard —

 

BARON: My wife! God, think of my wife!

 

BARONESS: Baron — they’re killing me — Baron!

 

NURSE: Baroness! Oh, for shame — oh, how dreadful!

 

She runs to RACHEL, who flees.

 

HARRY (rushing up): What’s goin’ off?