Barrie, J M - Dear Brutus Page 7

  JOANNA (troubled). Dear, hold my hand.

  MRS. COADE (suddenly trembling). Won't he know me?

  PURDIE (abashed by that soft face). Mrs. Coade, I 'm sorry. It didn't so much matter about the likes of us, but for your sake I wish Coady hadn't gone out.

  MRS. COADE. We that have been happily married this thirty years.

  COADE (popping in buoyantly). May I intrude? My name is Coade. The fact is I was playing about in the wood on a whistle, and I saw your light.

  MRS. COADE (the only one with the nerve to answer). Playing about in the wood with a whistle!

  COADE (with mild dignity). And why not, madam?

  MRS. COADE. Madam! Don't you know me?

  COADE. I don't know you . . . (Reflecting.) But I wish I did.

  MRS. COADE. Do you? Why?

  COADE. If I may say so, you have a very soft, lovable face.

  (Several persons breathe again.)

  MRS. COADE (inquisitorially). Who was with you, playing whistles in the wood?

  (The breathing ceases.)

  COADE. No one was with me.

  (And is resumed.)

  MRS. COADE. No . . . lady?

  COADE. Certainly not. (Then he spoils it.) I am a bachelor.

  MRS. COADE. A bachelor!

  JOANNA. Don't give way, dear; it might be much worse.

  MRS. COADE. A bachelor! And you are sure you never spoke to me before? Do think.

  COADE. Not to my knowledge. Never . . . except in dreams.

  MABEL (taking a risk). What did you say to her in dreams?

  COADE. I said, 'My dear.' (This when uttered surprises him.) Odd!

  JOANNA. The darling man!

  MRS. COADE (wav ering). How could you say such things to an old woman?

  COADE (thinking it out). Old? I didn't think of you as old. No, no, young--with the morning dew on your face--coming across a lawn--in a black and green dress--and carrying such a pretty parasol.

  MRS. COADE (thrilling). That was how he first met me! He used to love me in black and green; and it _was_ a pretty parasol. Look, I am old . . . So it can't be the same woman.

  COADE (blinking). Old? Yes, I suppose so. But it is the same soft, lovable face, and the same kind, beaming smile that children could warm their hands at.

  MRS. COADE. He always liked my smile.

  PURDUE. So do we all.

  COADE (to himself). Emma!

  MRS. COADE. He hasn't forgotten my name!

  COADE. It is sad that we didn't meet long ago. I think I have been waiting for you. I suppose we have met too late? You couldn't overlook my being an old fellow, could you, eh?

  JOANNA. How lovely; he is going to propose to her again. Coady, you happy thing, he is wanting the same soft face after thirty years!

  MRS. COADE (undoubtedly hopeful). We mustn't be too sure, but I think that is it. (Primly.) What is it exactly that you want, Mr. Coade?

  COADE (under a lucky star). I want to have the right to hold the parasol over you. Won't you be my wife, my dear, and so give my long dream of you a happy ending?

  MRS. COADE (preening). Kisses are not called for at our age, Coady, but here is a muffler for your old neck.

  COADE. My muffler; I have missed it. (It is however to his forehead that his hand goes. Immediately thereafter he misses his sylvan attire.) Why . . . why . . . what . . . who . . . how is this?

  PURDIE (nervously). He is coming to.

  COADE (reeling and righting himself). Lob!

  (The leg indicates that he has got it.)

  Bless me, Coady, I went into that wood!

  MRS. COADE. And without your muffler, you that are so subject to chills. What are you feeling for in your pocket?

  COADE. The whistle. It is a whistle I--Gone! of course it is. It's rather a pity, but . . . (Anxious.) Have I been saying awful things to you?

  MABEL. You have been making her so proud. It is a compliment to our whole sex. You had a second chance, and it is her, again!

  COADE. Of course it is. (Crestfallen.) But I see I was just the same nice old lazy Coady as before; and I had thought that if I had a second chance, I could do things. I have often said to you, Coady, that it was owing to my being cursed with a competency that I didn't write my great book. But I had no competency this time, and I haven't written a word.

  PURDIE (bitterly enough). That needn't make you feel lonely in this house.

  MRS. COADE (in a small voice). You seem to have been quite happy as an old bachelor, dear.

  COADE. I am surprised at myself, Emma, but I fear I was.

  MRS. COADE (with melancholy perspicacity). I wonder if what it means is that you don't especially need even me. I wonder if it means that you are just the sort of amiable creature that would be happy anywhere, and anyhow?

  COADE. Oh dear, can it be as bad as that!

  JOANNA (a ministering angel she). Certainly not. It is a romance, and I won't have it looked upon as anything else.

  MRS. COADE. Thank you, Joanna. You will try not to miss that whistle, Coady?

  COADE (getting the footstool for her). You are all I need.

  MRS. COADE. Yes; but I am not so sure as I used to be that it is a great compliment.

  JOANNA. Coady, behave.

  (There is a knock on the window.)

  PURDIE (peeping). Mrs. Dearth! (His spirits revive.) She is alone. Who would have expected that of _her_?

  MABEL. She is a wild one, Jack, but I sometimes thought rather a dear; I do hope she has got off cheaply.

  (ALICE comes to them in her dinner gown.)

  PURDIE (the irrepressible). Pleased to see you, stranger.

  ALICE (prepared for ejection.) I was afraid such an unceremonious entry might startle you.

  PURDIE. Not a bit.

  ALICE (defiant). I usually enter a house by the front door.

  PURDIE. I have heard that such is the swagger way.

  ALICE (simpering). So stupid of me. I lost myself in the wood . . . and . . .

  JOANNA (genially). Of course you did. But never mind that; do tell us your name.

  LADY CAROLINE (emerging again). Yes, yes, your name.

  ALICE. Of course, I am the Honourable Mrs. Finch-Fallowe.

  LADY CAROLINE. Of course, of course!

  PURDIE. I hope Mr. Finch-Fallowe is very well? We don't know him personally, but may we have the pleasure of seeing him bob up presently?

  ALICE. No, I am not sure where he is.

  LADY CAROLINE (with point). I wonder if the dear clever police know?

  ALICE (imprudently). No, they don't.

  (It is a very secondary matter to her. This woman of calamitous fires hears and sees her tormentors chiefly as the probable owner, of the cake which is standing on that tray.) So awkward, I gave my sandwiches to a poor girl and her father whom I met in the wood, and now . . . isn't it a nuisance--I am quite hungry. (So far with a mincing bravado.) May I?

  (Without waiting for consent she falls to upon the cake, looking over it like one ready to fight them for it.)

  PURDIE (sobered again). Poor soul.

  LADY CAROLINE. We are so anxious to know whether you met a friend of ours in the wood--a Mr. Dearth. Perhaps you know him, too?

  ALICE. Dearth? I don't know any Dearth.

  MRS. COADE. Oh, dear what a wood!

  LADY CAROLINE. He is quite a front door sort of man; knocks and rings, you know.

  PURDIE. Don't worry her.

  ALICE (gnawing). I meet so many; you see I go out a great deal. I have visiting-cards--printed ones.

  LADY CAROLINE. How very distingue. Perhaps Mr. Dearth has painted your portrait; he is an artist.

  ALICE. Very likely; they all want to paint me. I daresay that is the man to whom I gave my sandwiches.

  MRS. COADE. But I thought you said he had a daughter?

  ALICE. Such a pretty girl; I gave her half a crown.

  COADE. A daughter? That can't be Dearth.

  PURDIE (darkly). Don't be too sure. Was the man you speak of a rather chop
-fallen, gone-to-seed sort of person.

  ALICE. No, I thought him such a jolly, attractive man.

  COADE. Dearth jolly, attractive! Oh no. Did he say anything about his wife?

  LADY CAROLINE, Yes, do try to remember if he mentioned her.

  ALICE (snapping). No, he didn't.

  PURDIE. He was far from jolly in her time.

  ALICE (with an archness for which the cake is responsible). Perhaps that was the lady's fault.

  (The last of the adventurers draws nigh, carolling a French song as he comes.)

  COADE. Dearth's voice. He sounds quite merry!

  JOANNA (protecting). Alice, you poor thing.

  PURDIE. This is going to be horrible.

  (A clear-eyed man of lusty gait comes in.)

  DEARTH. I am sorry to bounce in on you in this way, but really I have an excuse. I am a painter of sorts, and . . .

  (He sees he has brought some strange discomfort here.)

  MRS. COADE. I must say, Mr. Dearth, I am delighted to see you looking so well. Like a new man, isn't he?

  (No one dares to answer.)

  DEARTH. I am certainly very well, if you care to know. But did I tell you my name?

  JOANNA (for some one has to speak). No, but--but we have an instinct in this house.

  DEARTH. Well, it doesn't matter. Here is the situation; my daughter and I have just met in the wood a poor woman famishing for want of food. We were as happy as grigs ourselves, and the sight of her distress rather cut us up. Can you give me something for her? Why are you looking so startled? (Seeing the remains of the cake.) May I have this?

  (A shrinking movement from one of them draws his attention, and he recognises in her the woman of whom he has been speaking. He sees her in fine clothing and he grows stern.)

  I feel I can't be mistaken; it was you I met in the wood? Have you been playing some trick on me? (To the others.) It was for her I wanted the food.

  ALICE (her hand guarding the place where his gift lies). Have you come to take hack the money you gave me?

  DEARTH. Your dress! You were almost in rags when I saw you outside.

  ALICE (frightened as she discovers how she is now attired). I don't . . . understand . . .

  COADE (gravely enough). For that matter, Dearth, I daresay you were different in the wood, too.

  (DEARTH sees his own clothing.)

  DEARTH. What . . . !

  ALICE (frightened). Where am I? (To Mrs. Coade.) I seem to know you . . . do I?

  MRS. COADE (motherly). Yes, you do; hold my hand, and you will soon remember all about it.

  JOANNA. I am afraid, Mr. Dearth, it is harder for you than for the rest of us.

  PURDIE (looking away). I wish I could help you, but I can't; I am a rotter.

  MABEL. We are awfully sorry. Don't you remember . . . Midsummer Eve?

  DEARTH (controlling himself). Midsummer Eve? This room. Yes, this room . . . You was it you? . . . were going out to look for something . . . The tree of knowledge, wasn't it? Somebody wanted me to go, too . . . Who was that? A lady, I think . . . Why did she ask me to go? What was I doing here? I was smoking a cigar . . . I laid it down, there . . . (He finds the cigar.) Who was the lady?

  ALICE (feebly). Something about a second chance.

  MRS. COADE. Yes, you poor dear, you thought you could make so much of it.

  DEARTH. A lady who didn't like me-- (With conviction.) She had good reasons, too--but what were they . . . ?

  ALICE. A little old man! He did it. What did he do?

  (The hammer is raised.)

  DEARTH. I am . . . it is coming back--I am not the man I thought myself.

  ALICE. I am not Mrs. Finch-Fallowe. Who am I?

  DEARTH (staring at her). You were that lady.

  ALICE. It is you--my husband!

  (She is overcome.)

  MRS. COADE. My dear, you are much better off, so far as I can see, than if you were Mrs. Finch-Fallowe.

  ALICE (with passionate knowledge). Yes, yes indeed! (Generously.) But he isn't.

  DEARTH. Alice! . . . I--(H e tries to smile.) I didn't know you when I was in the wood with Margaret. She . . . she . . . Margaret . . . (The hammer falls.)

  O my God!

  (He buries his face in his hands.)

  ALICE. I wish--I wish--

  (She presses his shoulder fiercely and then stalks out by the door.)

  PURDIE (to LOB, after a time). You old ruffian.

  DEARTH. No, I am rather fond of him, our lonely, friendly little host. Lob, I thank thee for that hour.

  (The seedy-looking fellow passes from the scene.)

  COADE. Did you see that his hand is shaking again?

  PURDIE. The watery eye has come back.

  JOANNA. And yet they are both quite nice people.

  PURDIE (finding the tragedy of it). We are all quite nice people.

  MABEL. If she were not such a savage!

  PURDIE. I daresay there is nothing the matter with her except that she would always choose the wrong man, good man or bad man, but the wrong man for her.

  COADE. We can't change.

  MABEL. Jack says the brave ones can.

  JOANNA. 'The ones with the thin bright faces.'

  MABEL. Then there is hope for you and me, Jack.

  PURDIE (ignobly). I don't expect so.

  JOANNA (wandering about the room, like one renewing acquaintance with it after returning from a journey). Hadn't we better go to bed? It must be getting late.

  PURDIE. Hold on to bed! (They all brighten.)

  MATEY (entering). Breakfast is quite ready.

  (They exclaim.)

  LADY CAROLINE. My watch has stopped.

  JOANNA. And mine. Just as well perhaps!

  MABEL. There is a smell of coffee.

  (The gloom continues to lift.)

  COADE. Come along, Coady; I do hope you have not been tiring your foot.

  MRS. COADE. I shall give it a good rest to-morrow, dear.

  MATEY. I have given your egg six minutes, ma'am.

  (They set forth once more upon the eternal round. The curious JOANNA remains behind.)

  JOANNA. A strange experiment, Matey; does it ever have any permanent effect?

  MATEY (on whom it has had none). So far as I know, not often, miss; but, I believe, once in a while.

  (There is hope in this for the brave ones. If we could wait long enough we might see the DEARTHS breasting their way into the light.)

  _He_ could tell you.

  (The elusive person thus referred to kicks responsively, meaning perhaps that none of the others will change till there is a tap from another hammer. But when MATEY goes to rout him from his chair he is no longer there. His disappearance is no shock to MATEY, who shrugs his shoulders and opens the windows to let in the glory of a summer morning. The garden has returned, and our queer little hero is busy at work among his flowers. A lark is rising.)

  The End