NURSE: The poor Baron — an old man! Oh, how dreadful!
BARONESS: Rudolf, Rudolf! Where am I — what — where?
BARON: I will kill you.
HARRY (to his sister): Has ter no more sense, gre’t hound?
MRS SMALLEY: What’s tha got ter do wi’ it? (to the BARON) Drop that stick!
BARON: I will certainly —
HARRY: Come off! (He wrenches loose her wrists.)
BARON: Ha! (In triumph.) Thief! (He rushes forward. SUSY avoids him quickly. He attacks HARRY, fetching him a smart whack.)
HARRY: The little wasp —
NURSE: Don’t, Mr Hemstock — don’t hurt him!
BARON: Ha! (He rushes again. HARRY dodges to avoid him, stumbles, the BARON gets in a blow. HARRY goes down.) Ha, I have smitten him — Ha!
BARONESS (fleeing): Baron — help! Help! Baron —
BARON (pursuing): My wife —
NURSE (to BARONESS): Come away, Baroness, come away quickly. The Baron is alright.
BARONESS: I have lost a galosher, he has lost his hat, and the lantern — oh!
BARON: Ah, Baroness, safe! God be glorified. What — oh, only Nurse. We haf been ambushed by a band of ruffians.
NURSE: You had better hurry to the vicarage, Baron, you will take cold.
BARON: Speak not to me of cold. We haf narrowly escaped. Are you wounded, Baroness?
BARONESS: Where is your hat, and the lantern, and my galosher?
BARON: What matter —
NURSE: You had better take the Baroness home, Baron. She will be ill.
BARONESS: We can’t afford to lose them — the lantern and your hat and a pair of galoshes.
BARON: Speak not of such —
They leave.
HARRY (rising slowly): The little snipe!
MRS SMALLEY: It serves thee right.
CURTAIN
SCENE III
The kitchen of the HEMSTOCKS’ house. MR HEMSTOCK is stirring a saucepan over the fire.
NURSE (entering): I am late. Are you making the food? I’m sorry.
MR HEMSTOCK: I hardly liked leavin’ her — she’s funny to-night. What’s a’ th’ row been about?
NURSE: Somebody buffeting the Baron and Baroness. I’ve just seen them safely on the path. Has Harry come in?
MR HEMSTOCK: No — hark — here he is! Whatever!
The door opens. Enter HARRY, very muddy, blood running down his cheek.
Whatever ‘as ter done to thysen?
HARRY: Fell down.
NURSE: Oh dear — how dreadful! Come and let me look! What a gash! I must bind it up. It is not serious.
MR HEMSTOCK: Tha’d better ta’e thy jacket off, afore Nurse touches thee.
HARRY does so. MR HEMSTOCK continues making the food. NURSE sets the kettle on the fire and gets a bowl.
NURSE (to HARRY): You feel faint — would you like to lie down?
HARRY: I’m a’ right.
NURSE: Yes, you are all right, I think. Sit here. What a house of calamities! However did it happen?
HARRY: The Baron hit me, and I fell over the lantern.
NURSE: Dear me — how dreadful!
HARRY: I feel fair dizzy, Nurse — as soft as grease.
NURSE: You are sure to do.
Exit MR HEMSTOCK with basin.
HARRY: Drunk, like. Tha’rt as good as a mother to me, Nurse.
NURSE: Am I?
HARRY: My mother worna one ter handle you very tender. ‘Er wor rough, not like thee.
NURSE: You see, she hadn’t my practice.
HARRY: She ‘adna thy hands. ‘Er’s rayther bad to-day, Nurse. I s’ll be glad when ‘er’s gone. It ma’es yer feel as if you was screwed in a tight jacket — as if you’d burst innerds.
NURSE: I understand — it has been so long.
HARRY: It has. I feel as if I should burst. Tha has got a nice touch wi’ thee, Nurse. ‘Appen ‘er’ll leave me a bit of money —
NURSE: Oh, Mr Hemstock!
HARRY: An’ if I could get some work — dost think I ought to get married, Nurse?
NURSE: Certainly, when you’ve found the right woman.
HARRY: If I was in steady work — Nurse, dost think I’m a kid?
NURSE: No — why?
HARRY: I want motherin’, Nurse. I feel as if I could scraight. I’ve been that worked-up this last eight month —
NURSE: I know, it has been dreadful for you.
HARRY: I dunna want huggin’ an’ kissin’, Nurse. I want — thar’t a nurse, aren’t ter?
NURSE: Yes, I’m a nurse.
HARRY: I s’ll reckon I’m badly, an’ then tha can nurse me.
NURSE: You are sick —
HARRY: I am, Nurse, I’m heartsick of everything.
NURSE: I know you are —
HARRY: An’ after my mother’s gone — what am I to do?
NURSE: What creatures you are, you men. You all live by a woman.
HARRY: I’ve lived by my mother. What am I to do, Nurse?
NURSE: You must get married —
HARRY: If I was in steady work —
NURSE: You’ll get work, I’m sure.
HARRY: And if my mother leaves me some money —
NURSE: I must tell you where the will is, for fear anything should happen.
HARRY: Then I can ax — is it done, Nurse?
NURSE: Just finished.
HARRY: Should I lie down?
NURSE: Let me straighten the sofa for you; don’t get up yet. Then I must see to Mrs Hemstock, and I’ll speak to you about the Baroness’s things, and about the will, when I come back. How does the head feel?
HARRY: Swimming, like — like a puff o’ steam wafflin’.
NURSE: Come along — come and lie down — there, I’ll cover you up.
MR HEMSTOCK (entering): Is he badly?
NURSE: I think he’ll be fairly by to-morrow.
MR HEMSTOCK: Tha’rt cading him a bit, Nurse.
NURSE: It is what will do him good — to be spoiled a while.
MR HEMSTOCK: ‘Appen so — but it’ll be a wonder.
NURSE: Why?
MR HEMSTOCK: Spoilin’ is spoilin’, Nurse, especially for a man.
NURSE: Oh, I don’t know. How is Mrs Hemstock?
MR HEMSTOCK: Funny. I canna ma’e heads or tails of her.
CURTAIN
ACT III
SCENE I
The morning after the previous scene. The dining-room at the vicarage, a spacious but sparsely furnished apartment, the BARON considering himself in all circumstances a soldier. The BARON, in martial-looking smoking jacket, is seated at a desk, writing, saying the words aloud. The clock shows eleven. Enter BARONESS, in tight-sleeved paisley dressing-gown, ruched at neck and down the front. She wears a mobcap.
BARON (rising hastily and leading her to her chair): You are sure, Baroness, you are sufficiently recovered to do this?
BARONESS: I am only pinned together, Baron. I shall collapse if the least thing happens.
BARON: It shall not happen.
BARONESS: My head has threshed round like a windmill all night.
BARON: Did I sleep?
BARONESS: No, Baron, no, no! How do you find yourself this morning?
BARON: Younger, Baroness. I have heard the clash of battle.
BARONESS: I was so afraid you had felt it.
BARON: I — I — but I shall fall to no sickness. I shall receive the thrust when I am in the pulpit, I shall hear the cry, “Rudolf von Ruge”! I fling up my hand, and my spirit stands at attention before the Commander.
BARONESS: Oh Baron, don’t. I shall dread Sunday.
BARON: Dread it, Baroness! Ah, when it comes, what glory! Baroness, I have fought obscurely. I have fought the small, inconspicuous fight, wounded with many little wounds of ignominy. But then — what glory!
BARONESS: Has Nurse come yet?
BARON: She has not, Baroness.
BARONESS: I wish she would.
BARON: You feel ill — hide nothing from me.
BARONESS: She promised to try and get the things. I know the hat will be ruined, but if we recover the galosh and the lantern, ‘twill be a salvation.
BARON: ‘Tis nothing.
BARONESS: ‘Tis, Baron, your hat cost 15/ — — and my pair of galoshes, 3/6, and the lantern, 2/11. What is that, Baron? Reckon it up.
BARON: I cannot — I have not — (a pause) it is twenty-one shillings and one penny.
BARONESS: 15/ — and 3/6 — 15, 16, 17, 18 — that’s 18/6 and 2/11 — 18 — 19, 20. (Counting.)And five pence, Baron. Twenty-one shillings and five pence.
BARON: ‘Tis nothing, Baroness.
BARONESS: ‘Tis a great deal, Baron. Hark! Who is that called?
BARON: I cannot hear.
BARONESS: I will go and see.
BARON: No, Baroness — I go.
BARONESS: To the kitchen, Baron?
Exit. The BARON, at the window, cries on the Lord, in German.
NURSE (at the door): Good morning.
BARONESS (hastily turning back): Have you got them?
NURSE: The hat and the galosh — we couldn’t find the lantern.
BARONESS: Those wicked Hemstocks have appropriated it.
NURSE: No, Baroness, I think not.
BARONESS: Your hat is not ruined, Baron — a miracle. Put it on — it looks as good as new. What a blessing. Just a little brushing — and my galosh is not hurt. But to think those wretches should secrete my lantern. I will show them —
BARON: Baroness!
BARONESS: I was going to the kitchen. I hear a man’s voice.
NURSE: The Baker’s cart is there.
BARONESS: Ah! (Exit BARONESS.)
NURSE: I am very glad the Baroness is not ill this morning.
BARON: Ah Nurse, the villainy of this world. Believe that a number of miners, ruffians, should ambush and attack the Baroness and me, out of wrath at our good work. The power of evil is strong, Nurse.
NURSE: It is, Baron, I’m sorry to say.
BARON: I think those people Hemstock instigated this, Nurse.
NURSE: No, Baron, I am sure not.
BARON: Will you say why you are sure, Nurse?
NURSE: I saw, Baron. It was not Harry Hemstock, nor his father.
BARON: Then who, Nurse? They are criminals. It is wickedness to cover their sin. Then who, Nurse?
NURSE: Some people from Northrop. I cannot say whom. You know, Baron, you are an aristocrat, and these people hate you for it.
BARON: The mob issues from its lair like a plague of rats. Shall it put us down and devour the land? Ah, its appetite is base, each for his several stomach. You knew them, Nurse?
NURSE: No, Baron.
BARON: You heard them — what they said — their voices.
NURSE: I heard one say “Catch hold of Throttle-ha’penny!”
BARON: “Catch hold of Trottle-ha’penny” — Throttle-ha’penny, what is that?
NURSE: I think it means the Baroness. They are so broad, these people, I can’t understand them.
BARON: I will punish them. Under the sword they shall find wisdom.
BARONESS’S VOICE: Oh, shameless! Shameless!
RACHEL’S VOICE: He was looking at my brooch.
BARONESS’S VOICE: Come here, Baker, come back.
BAKER’S VOICE: A stale loaf to change, Baroness?
BARONESS’S VOICE: You shall go before the Baron this time. Go in the dining-room, Rachel.
BAKER’S VOICE: Me too?
Enter RACHEL, in cap and apron, the BAKER, and the BARONESS.
BAKER (entering): Thank you, Missis. Good morning, Nurse. Expect to find the Baroness in bed? I did.
BARONESS (to RACHEL): Stand there!
BARON (sternly to BAKER): Stand there! Take a seat, Nurse. Pray be seated, Baroness.
BAKER (seating himself in the armchair): Hope I haven’t got your chair, Baron.
BARON: Stand, sir.
BAKER (to NURSE, as he rises): Nearly like my father said to the curate: “They’re a’ mine!”
BARON: Baroness!
BARONESS: He was, Baron, he was —
RACHEL: He was bending down to look at my new brooch. (She shows it.)
BARONESS: With his arm —
BAKER: On her apron strings —
BARONESS: He was stooping —
BAKER: To look at her new brooch.
BARON: Silence!
BARONESS: He kissed her.
BARON: Coward! Coward! Coward, sir!
BAKER: Ditto to you, Mister.
BARON: What! Sir! Do you know — ?
BAKER: That you are the “Baron von Ruge”? No, I’ve only your bare word for it.
NURSE: For shame, Mr Bowers.
BAKER: When a little old man, Nurse, calls a big young man a coward, he’s presuming on his years and size to bully, and I say, a bully’s a coward.
BARON: You contaminate my maid.
BAKER: I contaminate your maid?
BARONESS: The shameless baggage. What have I always said of her!
BARON: Baroness von Ruge! (to BAKER) You are going to marry her?
BAKER: It’s a question generally put to the woman.
BARON: Answer me, sir.
BAKER: I couldn’t say which she’s going to marry, out of her one or two fellows.
BARONESS: Shameless! Ah, the slut!
BARON: I repeat, sir — do you intend to marry this maid?
BAKER: I hadn’t fully made up my mind —
BARON: Then, sir, you are a villain —
BAKER: You’ve got the muscle of your years up, Mister —
BARON: You threaten me!
BARONESS: Baron!
RACHEL: I sh’d have thought you’d more about you, Job Arthur Bowers.
NURSE (deprecating): Oh, Mr Bowers!
BAKER: Right you are, Nurse!
BARON: I say, sir, a man who kisses a maid —
BAKER: Ought to be hanged for it — so say I.
BARON: Sir, your facetiousness is untimely. I say, a man who kisses a maid —
BARONESS: Baron, such people do not understand —
BARON (kissing her hand): Baroness!
RACHEL (melting): We’re not given the chance.
BARON: Sir, is there no reverence in a kiss? If you strike a match against the box, even, you wonder at the outburst of fire. Then, sir — but do you wonder at nothing?
BAKER: Nothing’s surprising — but everything is comical, Baron, that’s how I find it.
BARON (puzzled and distressed): So! So! Ah, but a woman is, according to her image in the eye of the men.
BAKER (looking at the BARONESS): Some of us must have fancy eyes.
NURSE: How can you be so flippant?
BARONESS: A woman is what a man makes her.
BAKER: By gum, there’s no tellin’ what you might manufacture in time, then. It’s a big job to begin of.
RACHEL (laughing): For shame, Job Arthur.
BARONESS: What have you to say? You bad creature! What wonder men are as they are?
BAKER: When the women make them.
BARON: You are of my parish?
BAKER: Yes — but I’m in Northrop Church choir.
BARON: You are a chorister? You wish to marry Rachel?
BAKER: As I say, I haven’t decided.
BARON: But what are you doing? What of this maid?
BARONESS: What does he care! Are you a married man, Baker?
BAKER: Not that I know to, Missis.
BARON: Sir, I am an old man, you remind me —
BAKER: Beg pardon, Baron.
BARON: And — a powerless — and I will say it, I will — a useless —
BARONESS: Baron!
BARON: Sir — I shall soon be called in — and, sir, you are of my parish, Rachel is of my house. What have I done, who am responsible?
BAKER: Nay, Baron, I can’t see as you’re to fault.
BARON: My fault, sir, is failure, and failure without honour. In three campaigns, which are my life, I have been miserably beaten.
BARONESS: No, Baron, no. How are you to blame?
NURSE: No, Baron, you have not failed.
BARON: In Poland, in London, and in my parish of Greenway. Baroness, we retire to a cottage; I sit still and contain myself, under sentence — Baroness, your pardon!
BARONESS: You shall not retire, Baron. Before God, I witness, you are no failure. Ah, Rachel, see now what you’ve done.
RACHEL (weeping): It’s not me.
BAKER: Nay, for that matter — would you marry me, Rachel, eh?
RACHEL: Opportunity’s a fine thing, you mean.
BAKER: Will you marry me, Rachel?
RACHEL: I — yes, I will, Job Arthur.
BARON: She loves you, she let you kiss her. But you, sir, do you honour her?
BAKER: I do.
BARON: Then will you leave me?
BAKER: Good morning, sir — and thank you.
He and RACHEL leave.
BARONESS: You are not ill, Baron?
BARON: No, Baroness. Nurse, who is this man?
NURSE: The Baker? Oh, he’s Job Arthur Bowers — a bit rackety. He lives down Greenhill with his old mother. She’s as deaf as a post, and a little bit crazed. But she’s very fond of her son.
BARON: Ah! She is mad? She is old? Will Rachel be good to her?
BARONESS: I very much doubt it.
NURSE: Rachel will be afraid of Job Arthur Bowers. He is too big for her ever to get her apron strings round him.
BARON (smiling slightly): I began to be afraid, Nurse —
BARONESS (at the window): He is bringing my lantern.
NURSE: Who? Ah, that’s right.
BARONESS: Will you ring, Baron? I will question that young man. We must get to the bottom of last night’s affair, Baron.
BARON: Those ruffians shall not go unpunished. Still I have power for that.
BARONESS (to RACHEL): Show that young man in here. Nurse, you will help us. We must hold our own against these ungodly creatures. Must we not, Baron?
BARON: Ah, Baroness, still we fight.
RACHEL: Harry Hemstock.
HARRY (entering, his head bound up): I’ve brought this ‘ere hurricane-lamp.
BARONESS: Thank you. And where did you find it?
HARRY: Where you’d lost it.
BARONESS: What have you done to your head?
HARRY (after a silence): You should know.
BARONESS: There, Baron. I was right. And you would have stolen the lantern if Nurse had not —
BARON: Leave the lantern, Baroness. Sir, who were your accomplices in this nightly attack?
HARRY: What’s ‘e mean, Nurse?
NURSE: The Baron means what men were those that attacked the Baroness and him last night. I say they were some men out of Northrop — that you could not recognize them. Mr Hemstock came to your assistance, Baron.
BARON: Is that so?
HARRY: I pulled ‘er off’n thee.
BARON: What is it he says, Nurse?
NURSE: He says he pulled the man away who was trying to hold you.
BARON: Ah! Tell me, sir — who was this ruffian?
HARRY: I non know, no.
BARON: Who struck you that blow? That you must know, and that must be told to me.
HARRY: Tha ought ter know thysen.
BARONESS: You are speaking to the Baron, remember.
HARRY: An’t wor him as gin me a crack ower th’ yed.
BARON: Then you were with the enemy. Now I behold you, sir. I will cause you, sir, I will make you to confess. I will see you punished. You shall suffer this course.
NURSE: You are mistaken, Baron.
BARON: Nurse, I will conduct this inquiry of myself. It is not of myself. But your cowardice, yours and those others’, to attack a lady, by night. There is a penalty for such, sir; I say you are vile, and you shall name me the other villains.
HARRY: There was no other villains — without you call a couple of women villains.
BARON: What mean you by a couple of women?
BARONESS: He doesn’t know what he is talking about.
NURSE: There were some men, Mr Hemstock — from Northrop.
HARRY: Well, if there wan, I didna see ‘em. All I see’d was two women draggin’ at th’ old Baron.
BARON: You mean to say we were attacked only by two women — Baroness?
NURSE: He must be mistaken.
BARONESS: These people would say anything.
BARON: Tell me, sir, tell me the truth at once.
HARRY: I’ve told you the truth.
BARON: It was some men, Baroness? At least, Baroness, one man there was —
BARONESS: There was one man — how many more I can’t say.
BARON: The throat of these people is fuller of untruth than a bird’s gizzard —
HARRY: It is the truth I’ve told you.
BARON: Nurse — speak — was it two women?
NURSE: It certainly was men, Baron.
HARRY: Well, it certainly wan’t, an’ I’m not a liar.
BARON: Then it was two women?
HARRY: It was.
BARON: And a woman has smitten your head?
HARRY: No, you did that youself, with your thick stick, when I’d pulled our Susy off’n you. An’ I fell over your lantern and it cut me.
BARONESS: A likely tale.
HARRY: Is it true, Nurse Broadbanks?
NURSE: I think you are mistaken, Mr Hemstock. Oh, do not be so persistent.
HARRY: I’ll not be made a liar of. Wheer’s Rachel?
BARONESS: Why Rachel? She has nothing to do with it.
HARRY: Fetch her in then.
NURSE: She has just been in. She is engaged to Job Arthur Bowers —
HARRY: I don’t care what she is.
BARON: I will ring.
BARONESS: Do not, Baron, do not trouble.
BARON: Sir, it was not two women — I defy you, sir. You make me a silly thing; it is your spleen.
BARONESS: You had better go, you.
HARRY: I’m not going to be made a liar of.
Enter RACHEL.
Rachel, who was it knocked the Baron’s hat off an’ shook him last night?
NURSE: Do you know the names of those men from Northrop, Rachel?
RACHEL: It wan’t him, Baron, he helped you.
BARON: He would patch me with shame. You saw this attack?
RACHEL: I was just slipping down to get some milk from Mrs Smalley, there was none for supper —
BARON: And what did you see?
RACHEL: I saw some men, an’ I heard some shouting, and I saw somebody hit him on the head. Then I ran home, and I’d just got in when you came.
HARRY: Why, wan’t it you and our Susy as was raggin’ the Baron an’ Baroness, an’ I come up an’ stopped you?
RACHEL: Me! Me an’ your Susy?
HARRY: You shammer!
RACHEL: I know you went up an’ stopped the men, whoever they was —
HARRY: So I’m a liar? So I’m a liar?
BARONESS: Yes — and you may go.
HARRY: So I’m a liar, Nurse Broadbanks?
He goes out.
BARON: God help us, we begin to believe in the plots they imagine against us. (He looks at his hands.) It was not two women, Baroness?
BARONESS: No, Baron, no.
BARON: You saw several men, Nurse?
NURSE: Yes, Baron.
BARON: Rachel — but why weep! Rachel — he defended me against men?
RACHEL (sobbing): Yes, Baron.
BARONESS: Rachel, leave the room.
RACHEL leaves.
BARON: Nurse, I am a soldier.
NURSE: You are, Baron.
BARON: I must reward that — fellow — although —
NURSE: It is good of you, Baron.
BARONESS: And you called yourself a failure, Rudolf.
BARON: I can — I must speak for him at the colliery. There I still have some influence.
NURSE: It is so good of you.
BARON: He has suffered already for his opposition. It is not good for the enemies of God to prosper. But I will write to my nephew.
NURSE: I could leave a letter, Baron — I am going past the colliery.
BARON: I will write now — then my honour is free. (Seats himself at the desk.) “My dear Nephew, I am placed under an obligation to that man of whom I have spoken to you before, Henry Hemstock, of the cottage at the end of the glebe close. It is within the bounds of your generosity to relieve me of this burden of gratitude contracted to one of such order. You will, of your fullness of spirit, lap over the confine of my debt with bounty. Your Aunt salutes you, and I reach you my right hand. Rudolf von Ruge.” — The manager of the collieries is as my own son to me, Nurse.
BARONESS: And he is a good son. He is my nephew.
NURSE: I will leave the letter.
CURTAIN
SCENE II
Evening of the same day. NURSE’S room, the sitting-room of a miner’s cottage: comfortable, warm, pleasant. NURSE in the armchair on one side of the fire. MR WILCOX on the other. He is a stout, elderly miner, with grey round whiskers and a face like a spaniel.
MR WILCOX: No, Nurse, I’ve not a bit of comfort.
NURSE: Why shouldn’t Rachel stay and look after you?
MR WILCOX: Nay, don’t ask me — an ungrateful hussy. And I can’t seem to get a housekeeper as’ll manage for me.
NURSE: It is difficult.
MR WILCOX: I’ve been trying this last ten years, an’ I’ve not had a good one yet. Either they eat you up, or waste, or drink. What do you think to-day? You know how it was raining. I got home from pit soaked. No breeches an’ waistcoat put to warm — fire nearly out.
NURSE: Oh, it is too bad.
MR WILCOX: An’ in the fender, a great row of roast potatoes, hard as nag-nails — not done a bit —
NURSE: What a shame —
MR WILCOX: An’ not a morsel of meat to eat to them. She’d aten the great piece of cold mutton left from yesterday, an’ then said I hadn’t left ‘er no money for no meat.
NURSE: How stupid!
MR WILCOX: So it was taters — you had to chomp ‘em like raw turnip — an’ drippin’ — an’ a bit of a batter puddin’ tough as whit-leather.
NURSE: Poor man.
MR WILCOX: An’ no fire — there never is when I come home. I believe she sells the coal.
NURSE: Isn’t it dreadful?
MR WILCOX: An’ they’re all alike.
NURSE: I suppose they are.
MR WILCOX: They are. You know I’m an easy man to live with, Nurse.
NURSE: I’m sure you are.
MR WILCOX: One as gives very little trouble. Nay, I can fettle for myself — an’ does so.
NURSE: I have seen you.
MR WILCOX: And I think I deserve a bit better treatment, Nurse.
NURSE: I’m sure you do.
MR WILCOX: An’ I ought to be able to get it. If I was drunken or thriftless I should say nothing.
NURSE: But you’re not.
MR WILCOX: No, I’m not. I’ve been a steady and careful man all my life. A Chapel-going man, whereas you’re Church — but that’s a detail.
NURSE: It ought not to matter.
MR WILCOX: You know, Nurse, I’ve got four good houses — lets at six shillings each.
NURSE: Yes, I know you have.
MR WILCOX: Besides a tidy bit in the bank.
NURSE: And you have saved it all?
MR WILCOX: Every penny.
NURSE: Ha!
MR WILCOX: An’ there’s on’y Rachel. I’d give her a couple of houses straight off, an’ then we should be alright there: nobody could grumble.
NURSE: You could do that, of course.
MR WILCOX: Nurse, do you know how old I am?
NURSE: No, Mr Wilcox.
MR WILCOX: I’m just fifty-eight.
NURSE: Hm! I should have thought you were more.
MR WILCOX: I’m not.
NURSE: It is comparatively young.
MR WILCOX: It’s not old, is it? And though I’ve been a widower these ten years — I’m not — I’m not good for nowt, d’yer see?
NURSE: Of course you’re not.
MR WILCOX: An’ you know, Nurse, you’re just the one for me.
NURSE (laughing): Am I, Mr Wilcox?
MR WILCOX: Nurse, will you tell me your name?
NURSE: Broadbanks.
MR WILCOX: You know I meant your Christian name. Don’t torment me, Nurse, I can’t stand it.
NURSE: I was baptized Millicent Emily.
MR WILCOX: “Millicent Emily” — it’s like the “Song of Solomon”. Can I say it again?
NURSE: If you will say it only to yourself.
MR WILCOX: My name is James — Jim for short.
NURSE: I thought it was Hezekiah — or Ezekiel.
MR WILCOX: Hezekiah’s my second name — James Hezekiah.
NURSE: I like Hezekiah better.
MR WILCOX: Do you — I thought you didn’t. Oh, I’m glad you like it. But yours is lovely.
NURSE: I prefer Nurse.
MR WILCOX: So do I — nice and short. (A pause.) Shall I sing to you, Nurse?
NURSE: Do you sing?
MR WILCOX: Oh, yes — I used to be a great one at “Ora pro Nobis”. Should I sing you “Gentle Annie”? I used to sing that forty years since.
NURSE: When you were courting, Mr Wilcox?
MR WILCOX: Afore that.
He hesitates — goes to the piano and, after fumbling, begins to vamp to “What Are the Wild Waves Saying”. He begins to sing, “lamentoso”.
NURSE: There’s someone at the door!
Not hearing, or observing, he continues to play. She opens to DR FOULES: they stand smiling. MR WILCOX stops playing and wheels round.
DR FOULES: “Music, when soft voices die, vibrates in the memory.”
NURSE: Mr Wilcox was enlivening my leisure. Do you know Mr Wilcox, Dr Foules?
DR FOULES: I have not had the pleasure till now.
He bows.
MR WILCOX: Good even’ — I wasn’t aware as anybody was here.
DR FOULES: “By rapture’s blaze impelled he swelled the artless lay.”
NURSE: I think Mr Wilcox sings very well indeed. Will you finish, Mr Wilcox?
MR WILCOX: No, thanks, I must be going.
DR FOULES: Pray do not let me hasten you away.
MR WILCOX: Oh, I was just going. Well — happen you’ll call at our house, Nurse?
NURSE: I will, Mr Wilcox.
He leaves.
DR FOULES: Did I interrupt you?
NURSE: You did not interrupt me.
DR FOULES: Then I incur no disfavour?
NURSE: Not for stopping poor Mr Wilcox at “Brother, I hear no singing” — Poor man!
DR FOULES: You pity him?
NURSE: I do.
DR FOULES: Ah! Is it of the mind-melting sort?
NURSE: I do not understand.
DR FOULES: “For pity melts the mind to love” —
NURSE: No — poor man. I can just imagine my mother, if I took him down to Kent. Well, you’ve done a nice thing for yourself —
DR FOULES: You daren’t face family criticism?
NURSE: I daren’t.
DR FOULES: Ah! Then he does aspire?
NURSE: Poor old fellow!
DR FOULES: I do not like your pity, Nurse — however near akin it may be to something better.
NURSE: You have often incurred it, Doctor.
DR FOULES: Which of the two, Nurse?
NURSE: The pity, of course. I have said “poor boy”.
DR FOULES: Why?
NURSE: Why? (She laughs.) Because, I suppose, you were pitiable.
DR FOULES (blushing): You mean I was to be pitied. Why?
NURSE: Because you were not like the Pears’ Soapy baby — ”He won’t be happy till he gets it,” but you went on washing your self without soap, good as gold.
DR FOULES: I cannot apply your simile.
NURSE: Perhaps not. I never was literary.
DR FOULES: You have grown brilliant — and caustic, if I may say so.
NURSE: It is the first time I have been accused of brilliance.
DR FOULES: Then perhaps I am the steel which sheds the sparks from your flint.
NURSE: Oh, the sparks may come, but they’re not noticed. Perhaps you are only the literary man who catches them on his tinder and blows them into notice. You love a phrase beyond everything.
DR FOULES: Really — I hardly recognize you, Nurse.
NURSE: And what did your mother say of me?
DR FOULES: I thank you for calling so soon. Did she seem changed, to you?
NURSE: She looks very ill.
DR FOULES: Yes, I am worried.
NURSE: You are afraid it is something serious?
DR FOULES: Yes.
NURSE: I hope not. But it put me about to see her looking so frail. She was very kind to me.
DR FOULES: You are very good, Nurse.
NURSE: It is my duty to be sympathetic, Doctor.
DR FOULES: And use is second nature. I will take courage, Nurse.
NURSE: Will it not be a complete disguise?
DR FOULES: Your duty does not extend to me, Nurse.
NURSE: No, Doctor.
DR FOULES: You wish me to see you in your new guise, Nurse. You stick daw’s feathers among your dove’s plumage.
NURSE (laughing): What, am I a dove then? It is a silly bird.
DR FOULES: You have had a hard time, Nurse?
NURSE: I have got over the hardness, thank you. It is all moderate, now.
DR FOULES: Might it not be more than moderate?
NURSE: I hope it will be some day.
DR FOULES: Could I help it, do you think?
NURSE: Everybody helps it, by being amiable —
DR FOULES: But might I not help it — more particularly? You used to —
NURSE: Say you are in love with me, Doctor —
DR FOULES: I have always been —
NURSE: Then the light has been under a bushel.
DR FOULES: “Blown to a core of ardour by the awful breath of — ” (He smiles very confusedly.) I may hope then, Nurse.
NURSE (smiling): Along with Mr Wilcox.
DR FOULES: Thank you for the company.
NURSE: Look here, Arthur, you have lived like a smug little candle in a corner, with your mother to shelter you from every draught. Now you can get blown a bit. I do not feel inclined to shelter you for the rest of your life.
DR FOULES: Thank you.
NURSE: I am sorry if I am nasty. But I am angry with you.
DR FOULES: It is evident.
NURSE: And I will still come and see your mother, if I may. She is a woman to respect.
DR FOULES: I do not order my mother’s comings and goings. The case is the reverse, you remember.
NURSE: Very well. On your high horse, you are more like the nursery than ever.
DR FOULES: Thank you.
NURSE (mimicking): Thank you.
DR FOULES: I am surprised —
NURSE: I am surprised — but — was that someone at the door?
DR FOULES: I could not tell you.
NURSE: Excuse me, I will see.
DR FOULES: Let me go, first. (Catching his hat to depart.)
NURSE (opening the door): You, Mr Hemstock. Will you come in?
Enter HARRY.
DR FOULES: Good evening, Mr Hemstock. I will make way for you.
NURSE: “Applications considered Tuesday, between seven and nine p.m.” That is your meaning, Doctor?
DR FOULES: With your usual astuteness, you have it.
NURSE: With my usual astuteness, I have avoided so far the “Matrimonial Post”. This is the irony of fate, Doctor. It never rains but it pours.
DR FOULES (bowing to NURSE and HARRY): The third time pays for all, they say.
NURSE (laughing): I will tell you to-morrow.
DR FOULES: It will not be too late to drop me a post card.
NURSE: I will see. Good night, Dr Foules.
DR FOULES: Good night, Nurse Broadbanks. I wish you luck.
NURSE: And lifelong happiness.
DR FOULES: Good night!
Exit DR FOULES.
NURSE: He is very pleasant, isn’t he?
HARRY: They say so.
NURSE: How is Mrs Hemstock?
HARRY: She’s worse. She’s not speakin’.
NURSE: Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Did you want me to do anything? Poor thing, it will be a relief when she’s gone.
HARRY: The ‘owd doctor’s bin. He told us to ax you to see her settled down —
NURSE: Shall I come now?
HARRY: Or in about half an hour’s time — when you’re ready.
NURSE: I may as well come now — when I’ve just tidied the room. Are you going to sit up with her?
HARRY: No — my father is, an’ our Susy. I’m going to work.
NURSE: Going to work? I thought you hadn’t a place.
HARRY: They sent me word as I wor to go to-morrow — buttyin’ wi’ Joe Birkin.
NURSE: And will it be a good place?
HARRY: Ha! It’s a sight better than ever I expected.
NURSE: Oh, that is nice, isn’t it?
HARRY: It’s better nor mormin’ about at home.
NURSE: It is. I’m so glad, Mr Hemstock. Then you’ll stop at Greenway?
HARRY: I’m reckonin’ so. There’s nowt else, is there?
NURSE: No — why should there be? You’ll have to begin afresh after Mrs Hemstock has gone —
HARRY: I s’ll make a start o’ some sort.
NURSE: You will? Do you know, I’ve had old Mr Wilcox here tonight.
HARRY: Oh — ah?
NURSE: He’s so comical. He was singing to me. (She laughs into her hand.)
HARRY: He must ha’ wanted summat to do —
NURSE: I think so. You never heard anything like it in your life.
HARRY: ‘E never wor but dosy-baked.
NURSE (purring): What does that mean?
HARRY: Soft, batchy, sawney.
NURSE: Poor old chap. It’s no use being angry with him, is it?
HARRY: What for?
NURSE: For thinking I would accept him.
HARRY: No, it’s not good bein’ mad wi’ him.
NURSE: He looked so crestfallen.
HARRY: He’ll be just as game by to-morrow.
NURSE: Of course he will. Men only pretend to be so heartbroken. By supper-time they’ve forgotten.
HARRY: An’ what’s a woman do?
NURSE: I don’t know. You see it means more to a woman. It’s her life. To a man it’s only a pleasant change.
HARRY: To all appearances, you’d think it worn’t such a life-an’-death affair to her.
NURSE: Why?
HARRY: Woman is reckoned to be pinin’ for you, goes an’ makes a liar an’ a fool of you in front of other folks.
NURSE: You mean Rachel Wilcox.
HARRY: Ah — ’appen I do.
NURSE: But, poor old Baron, it would have killed him.
HARRY: Then let him die. What good is he, here or anywhere else?
NURSE: Oh, Mr Hemstock!
HARRY: Besides, she did it to spite me, because ‘er wor mad wi’ me.
NURSE: But she is engaged to Mr Bowers.
HARRY: ‘Appen so. ‘Er bites ‘er nose off to spite her face.
NURSE: But poor old Baron — it would have been so cruel.
HARRY: Would he have stopped tellin’ everybody else the truth?
NURSE: But you can’t judge in that way —
HARRY: Why canna I? You make a liar an’ a swine of me, an’ a dam’ fool of him —
NURSE: Oh, come, Mr Hemstock.
HARRY: He is a little fool — an’ wants to boss everybody else wi’ it, an’ a’ —
NURSE: You ought not to speak of the Baron like that.
HARRY: No, it’s all palaver, an’ smooth talk. I’ll see anybody in hell before I’m fed wi’ mealy-mouthed words like a young pigeon.
NURSE: I think you don’t know what you’re talking about.
HARRY: Dunna I though, but I do. I’m not going to be made a convenience of, an’ then buttered up, like a trussed fowl.
NURSE: There is no one wants to butter you up, to my knowledge.
HARRY: Alright, then — then there isn’t.
NURSE: And all this, I think, has been very uncalled for — and unnecessary.
HARRY: Alright, then — an’ it has. But I’m not a kid, nor to be treated like one —
NURSE: It’s there you make your mistake.
HARRY: Nay, it’s somebody else as had made a mistake.
NURSE: Yes — we do think the quiet vessels are the full ones. But it seems they only want shaking to rattle worse than any.
HARRY: Alright. Say what you like.
NURSE: Thank you, I don’t wish to say any more, except that I pity whoever has you, for you seem to be in a state of chronic bad temper.
HARRY: Alright — I’ll be going.
NURSE (who has been tidying the room): I will be at your house in ten minutes.
HARRY: There’s no occasion to hurry — am I to wait for you?
NURSE: No, thank you — I would rather come alone.
CURTAIN
ACT IV
The evening after the last scene. It is the third day of the play. The kitchen at the HEMSTOCKS’.
NURSE: And what about the fire in the room?
SUSY: I’ll let it go out and take the ashes up by daylight. It’s falling dusk, an’ I don’t like being in by myself.
NURSE: Poor Mrs Hemstock — she went away quickly at the last.
SUSY (red-eyed — sniffing): She did that. Eh, but wan’t she wasted? A fair skeleton! I’m glad you laid her out, Nurse.
NURSE: I shall miss her. I’ve been coming here over a year now.
SUSY: I hope I don’t lie like that. She used to be as strong as a horse. But she was hard, you know.
NURSE: Perhaps she had enough to make her.
SUSY: She had — wi’ my father an’ the lads. She was easiest wi’ our Harry. He was always mother’s lad.
NURSE: Yet they have been so indifferent —
SUSY: At the bottom they haven’t. She never forgave him for going with Rachel Wilcox — an’ he was always funny-tempered, would rool up like a pea-bug, at a word.
NURSE: I thought she favoured Rachel Wilcox.
SUSY: No, hated her; but she used her to make game of him.
NURSE: She is engaged to the Baker now.
SUSY: Yes. He’s only having her for her money — an’ she’ll hate him when she’s rubbed the fur off a bit. But she’s one would fuss round a pair of breeches on a clothesline, rather than have no man.
NURSE: I don’t like her.
SUSY: Not many does. She fair pines for our Harry, yet she’d have Job Arthur for fear of getting nobody.
NURSE: How dreadful! (She goes for her cloak.)
SUSY: Nay, dunna go. Stop an’ ha’e a cup o’ tea. I durstn’t stop in by mysen. The kettle’ll boil in a minute. (She lays the table.)
NURSE: I really ought to go.
SUSY: Don’t, I should be scared to death. You’ll stop five minutes, Nurse.
NURSE: A quarter of an hour.
SUSY (staring): What’s that?
NURSE (going to the door): It’s only Patty.
SUSY: She’s been that lost a’ day without our Harry.
NURSE: Poor old Patty!
Enter HARRY.
SUSY: Tha’rt a bit sooner than I thought fer.
HARRY (surly): Am I?
SUSY: I hanna been able to get thee no dinner.
HARRY: Why?
SUSY: She on’y died at two o’clock — an’ we’ve been busy ever sin’, haven’t we, Nurse?
NURSE: We have, Mrs Smalley.
SUSY: Shall ter ha’e tea wi’ me an’ Nurse?
HARRY: No.
SUSY: What then?
HARRY: Nowt.
SUSY: Shall ter wesh thysen?
HARRY: Ha.
SUSY: Pump wor frozen this mornin’ —
HARRY: I know.
SUSY fetches a large red pancheon from outside, puts in cold water, brings towel and soap, setting all on a stool on hearth-rug. HARRY sets tin bottle and knotted snap-bag on table, takes off his cap, red wool scarf, coat, and waistcoat. He pours hot water from boiler into pancheon, strips off his singlet or vest — he wears no shirt — and kneels down to wash. NURSE and SUSY sit down to tea.
NURSE (to HARRY): You must be tired to-day. (No answer.)
SUSY: I bet his hands is sore — are they? (No answer.) Best leave him alone — they always grumble about their hands, first day.
HARRY: Wheer’s my Dad?
SUSY: Gone to registrar’s.
NURSE: Yes, they must take some time to harden.
SUSY: Shall you sit there, Nurse? I’d better light the lamp, you can’t see.
HARRY: Tha nedna.
SUSY: What’s thaigh to stop me for?
NURSE: No — I like the twilight — really.
SUSY: There’s a lot o’ dirt wi’ a collier — an’ mess.
NURSE: Yes.
SUSY: I allers said I’d not marry one. I’d had enough wi’ my father an’ th’ lads.
NURSE: They say it’s clean dirt.
SUSY: Is it? Muck an’ mess, to my thinkin’.
NURSE: Yes, I suppose so. I used to think it would be dreadful.
SUSY: But you’ve altered.
NURSE: Well, I’ve thought about it — I’m afraid I should never fit in.
SUSY: No — you’re too much of a lady — you like a lady’s ways.
NURSE: I don’t know. Perhaps one does get a bit finicky after a certain time.
SUSY (to HARRY): Dost want thy back doin’?
He grunts assent. She washes his back with a flannel, and wipes it as she talks.
NURSE: It’s the thought of it day after day, day after day — it is rather appalling.
SUSY: The thought of any man, like that, is.
NURSE (smiling): It was not the man — it was the life — the company one would have to keep.
SUSY: Yes. So you wouldn’t marry a collier, Nurse?
NURSE: Yes, I would — for all that. If I cared for him.
SUSY: That makes the difference.
NURSE: It does.
SUSY: I can’t imagine you married to a collier.
NURSE: Sometimes it seems mad, to me; sometimes it doesn’t.
SUSY: I shouldn’t ha’ thought, though, Nurse, you’d ha’ had one —
NURSE: No? I might.
SUSY: Not an old one?
NURSE: Certainly not an old one. Not Mr Wilcox.
SUSY: Ha. Have another cup? I wish Patty would keep still. She fair worrits me. I’m sure I’d like to drop your cup, she made me jump that much.
NURSE: I am surprised you are nervous.
SUSY: We all are. I wonder, Nurse, where my mother’s will is?
NURSE: Oh — I meant to have told you. In the socket of the bedpost nearest the drawers, at the top.
SUSY: Would you believe it!
NURSE: She was very quaint sometimes. Poor Mrs Hemstock.
SUSY: Do you think she was in her right mind?
NURSE: Oh, yes — and Doctor does, too.
SUSY: Well — I used to have my doubts.
NURSE: Poor Mrs Hemstock.
A knock.
SUSY: Oh!
RACHEL (entering): I thought there was nobody in, seeing no light. Is Nurse here?
NURSE: Yes.
RACHEL: The Baroness wants you to go up, she’s got a pain. I’ve been to your place for you.
NURSE: Poor Baroness! What is the matter?
RACHEL: She’s got a pain in her shoulder.
NURSE: Rheumatism?
RACHEL: She says she believes it’s pleurisy.
NURSE (smiling): Poor old Baroness; she does fancy.
RACHEL: But she won’t pay for a doctor, fancy or no fancy, not if she can help it. Her fancy mustn’t cost her anything.
NURSE: She knows I can treat her. I can go straight there.
RACHEL: Oh, an’ will you go an’ see what’s up with my father? He’s not been to work — been in bed all day — can’t eat — won’t have the doctor — fading away —
NURSE: That is sad! What ails him?
RACHEL: I don’t know — Minnie’s been up for me. Says he feels hot inside, an’ believes he’s got an inflammation.
NURSE: I’ll call if I have time. I must go.
RACHEL: He’s done nothing but ask were his eyes bloodshot, and would Minnie be frightened if he turned delirious. She’s frit — an’ I can’t go down —
NURSE: I will call. Good night, everybody.
Exit NURSE.
SUSY: I must light the lamp.
RACHEL: I didn’t hear till four o’clock as she’d gone. Was she unconscious?
SUSY: Yes, all day.
RACHEL (to HARRY — who is struggling into his shirt): And was you at work? Fancy, you been at home all this time, then it to happen the first day you was away. Things do happen cruel.
SUSY: Shall you give him his tea, while I go an’ see to my lad?
RACHEL: I mustn’t be long.
SUSY goes out.
What shall you have?
HARRY: Nowt.
RACHEL: Oh, you must ‘ave somethink. Just a cup of tea, if nothing else. Come on — come an’ sit here. See, it’s waiting. You must be fair sinkin’ after bein’ at work all day. I’ve thought of you every minute, I’m sure. I’ve heard the driving engines shuddering every time, an’ I’ve thought of you. (She cuts bread and toasts it.) They say you’re hard, but they don’t know. (Suspicion of tears.) I used to think myself as you was a kid, a frightened bit of a rabbit — but I know different now. (She cries.) I know what you’ve had to go through — an’ I’ve been a cat to you, I have. I know what you’ve felt — as if you was pushed up against a wall, an’ all the breath squeezed out of you — her dyin’ by inches — an’ I’ve been a cat to you. (She butters the toast.)
HARRY: Tha needna do that for me.
RACHEL: Yes, do eat a bit — you’ll be sinkin’. I’ve had no tea — I’ll eat a bit with you, if you will. (She sits down, drinks tea, and eats a little.) You know I’ve fair hated myself — I’ve wished I was dead. But I needn’t talk about myself. Are your hands sore?
HARRY: A bit.
RACHEL: I knew they must be — because you’ve worked like a horse, I know you have, to stop thinking. I can see you’re dog-tired. Let me look. (She takes his hand.) Fair raw! (Melting into tears.) You don’t care a bit about yourself, you don’t, an’ it’s not fair.
HARRY: Tha hasna bothered thysen above thy boot-tops.
RACHEL: I know I haven’t. Oh, I was jealous of your mother, ‘cause I knowed you was fonder of her —
HARRY: Tha nedna — (She weeps — he hides his face.)
RACHEL: I s’ll never forgive myself —
HARRY: Dunna —
RACHEL, sobbing, goes to him, takes his head on her bosom, and rocks it.
RACHEL: An’ I’ve been such a cat to thee, Harry.
HARRY (putting his arms round her waist): I’ve not seen her for two days.
RACHEL: Never mind, never mind. She’s been wandering — never mind.
HARRY: Now ‘er’s gone.
RACHEL: Never mind, we s’ll die ourselves someday, we shall. I know tha loved her, better than me — tha allers would — I know. But let me be wi’ thee. (She sits down on his knee.) Let me stop wi’ thee, tha wants somebody. An’ I care for nowt but thee — tha knows I do.
HARRY: Should we go an’ look at her?
RACHEL (kissing him): We will. (She kisses him again.) Tha’s been like a bird on a frozen pond, tha has. Tha’s been frozen out —
HARRY: Rachel?
RACHEL: What?
HARRY: Dunna kiss me yet —
RACHEL: No — I won’t — I won’t.
HARRY: Afterwards —
RACHEL: Yes, I know — I know. (Silence a moment.) Come then, we’ll go an’ look at her.
She lights a candle, takes his hand. They go into the front room.
Enter SUSY.
SUSY: Where are they? I’d think they’ve carted off an’ left th’ house empty. (Calls.) Rachel! Oh my goodness! Harry!
Enter RACHEL and HARRY, both with red eyes, from the sickroom.
Oh, here you are.
RACHEL: Yes. Did you think I’d gone?
HARRY pulls on his coat and goes out.
SUSY: Yes — you said you was in a hurry.
RACHEL: I shall have to be goin’.
SUSY: I wish my father would come. Is he grumpy yet?
RACHEL: Harry? No, he’s not grumpy, no.
SUSY: What? Have you made it up?
RACHEL: There was nothing to make.
SUSY: I’m glad to hear it. What about Job Arthur?
RACHEL: I never did care a bit about him or anybody else —
SUSY: No, but —
RACHEL: Well, but what?
SUSY: Has he asked you? Has he promised you? Our Harry?
RACHEL: Yes, not in words — but I know.
SUSY: You don’t. Nurse wants him, an’ Nurse’ll get him.
RACHEL: She won’t.
SUSY: You see.
RACHEL: Don’t you fret your fat. He’s not that easy to grab.
SUSY: But he’s got a fancy for Nurse. He’s as proud as they make ‘em, an’ it would just suit him to crow over us, marryin’ a lady.
RACHEL: A lady!
SUSY: Well, you know what I mean. An’ I believe there’s summat in the will for her. My mother harped on her an’ our Harry —
RACHEL: An’ does she know?
SUSY: She’s not far off o’ guessin’, I’ll be bound. She is a deep one, Nurse is.
RACHEL: She is. Oh, she’d soon know everything if she got a sniff. An’ has your father got the will?
SUSY: No, it’s in the front room.
RACHEL: Well — you should get it, an’ see what it says. You should come in for something, and then —
SUSY: Durst you come with me?
RACHEL: Yes, I durst come.
SUSY: Should us then?
RACHEL: Yes, let us. You could burn it if there was owt you didn’t like.
SUSY: Durst you get it? (She lights a candle.)
RACHEL: Yes, if you’ll show me.
They go into the next room.
SUSY’S VOICE: Doesn’t it smell cold a’ready. Oh!
RACHEL’S VOICE: It does.
SUSY’S VOICE: Look, you want to get on this table. This blessed candle does jump.
RACHEL’S VOICE: I could ha’ sworn tha sheet moved.
A shriek from SUSY — shrieks from RACHEL — a bump — more shrieks. SUSY rushes across the kitchen out of doors. In a moment HARRY appears in the outer doorway. RACHEL flies blindly into him.
HARRY: Whatever’s up?
RACHEL: Oh Harry! Oh Harry!
HARRY: Well — what’s up? What’s ter got in thy hand?
RACHEL: Oh, whatever was it? Let’s go.
HARRY: What wor that? What!
He starts as Patty walks mildly from the front room.
It wor nowt but our Patty.
RACHEL: I thought I should have died.
HARRY: What wor ther doin’?
RACHEL: I fell off that table. Oh, and I have bruised my arm.
HARRY: What wor you doin’? What’s this?
SUSY (entering): Oh Rachel!
RACHEL: It was only Patty.
SUSY: Did you get it? Oh, look at our Harry opening it!
HARRY: Why, it’s th’ will. I sh’d ha’ thought you’d have more about you — (He reads.)
SUSY: What’s it say?
HARRY: Look for thysen, if tha’rt in such a mighty hurry.
SUSY (reading): Five hundred and fifty pounds for him and Nurse Broadbanks if they marry — an’ if not, to be divided between me an’ him. What did I say! Would you credit, now? But there’s one thing, Nurse won’t have him.
RACHEL: He doesn’t want her.
HARRY: She’s worth a million such as you, cats as wants nowt but to lap at a full saucer. You couldna let her lie quiet for five minutes, but must be after her bit of money.
RACHEL: Indeed, I didn’t want the money.
SUSY: He wants it himself, an’ that’s what he’s been contrivin’ for all along — him an’ that slivin’ Nurse. There’s a pair of ‘em.
HARRY: There’s a pair of you, more like it — a couple of slitherin’ cats, nowt else. No more you think of her, than if she wor a dead fish wi’ the money in her mouth. But you shan’t have it, you shan’t, if I can scotch you.
RACHEL: Oh, Mr Sharp-shins, you think you know everything, do you? You’re mistaken. It’s not fair, it isn’t. I only —
HARRY: Tha needs to tell me nowt.
NURSE (entering): Oh, you are here! The Baroness asked me to call and see where you were, Rachel.
RACHEL: And now you’ve seen, you can go back an’ tell her you’ve been.
HARRY: They’ve been after th’ will, couldna let her rest still in her own room, but what must they do, go ferretin’ for her money —
SUSY: Shut thy mouth, tha’s said enough.
HARRY: That I hanna. They’d claw the stuff out of her hand, if it wor there —
SUSY: Hadn’t we a right to see the will?
HARRY: There’s a lot of right about you. Here, come here. Give us hold of it.
SUSY: I shan’t.
HARRY: What! Now, Nurse, thee read it. We’n all read. Now thee read it. (NURSE reads.) Hast got it all? Tha sees?
NURSE: Yes, I understand it.
HARRY: An’ what dost say?
NURSE: I say nothing.
SUSY: This is what she’s been working for.
HARRY: Then let them as has worked be paid. What? I say “snip”, Nurse, will tha say “snap”? Come on — ”snap” me, Nurse. Say “snap”. Snip?
NURSE: This is hardly the occasion.
RACHEL: He doesn’t love you, Nurse. This is only his temper.
NURSE: I think, out of respect to the dead, we ought not to go on like this.
SUSY: You’ll be precise and proper — all lardy-da. Oh yes — but you’ve got what you’ve been aiming at, haven’t you? You’ve worked it round very clever. You see what carneyin’ ‘ll do for you, Rachel. If you’d ha’ buttered your words, you might ha’ been alright.
RACHEL: I couldn’t creep.
HARRY: No; you could slither, though.
NURSE: I’m afraid I must be going.
SUSY: Yes, you can smile to yourself, and hug yourself under your cloak in the dark. It’s worth marryin’ him for, five hundred and fifty pounds.
NURSE goes out.
HARRY: She’s a lady, she is, an’ she makes you two look small.
RACHEL: Well, Harry, you can think what you like about me: and you always have thought me as bad as you could imagine. But I only did it to help Susy — and all I’ve done I’ve done with you sleering at me. An’ I shan’t marry Job Arthur; I s’ll go in service in Derby. An’ you needn’t sleer at me no more — because it’s your fault, even more than mine.
HARRY: A’ right, ma’e it my fault.
RACHEL: As much as mine, I said.
HARRY: Dunna let me stop thee from ha’ein’ Job Arthur.
RACHEL: Job Arthur’s a man as can play his own tune on any mortal woman, brazen as brass, or cuddlin’ as a fiddle —
HARRY: Or as ronk as an old mouth organ.
RACHEL: Or like a bagpipe as wants squeezin’, or a mandolin as wants tickling. He gets a tune out of the whole job lot, the whole band —
HARRY: Shut up.
RACHEL: But I’ll buy you a cuckoo-clock to keep you company.
HARRY: I’ll buy my own.
RACHEL (flapping her arms suddenly at him): Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
CURTAIN