Читать книгу The Benefit of the Doubt; a Comedy in Three Acts - Arthur Wing Pinero - Страница 3

Table of Contents

The Scene represents a drawing-room in Mrs. Emptage’s house near Regent’s Park. At the back are double doors, opening on to a further drawing-room, and these face a window, over which the blinds are drawn, to moderate the glare of the sun, which nevertheless streams through them, for it is a fine afternoon in early summer. The rooms are furnished and decorated in a costly and tasteful fashion.

Mrs. Emptage is reclining upon the settee, her eyes closed, a bottle of smelling-salts in her hand. Justina is pacing the room between the door and the window. Mrs. Emptage is a pretty, carefully-preserved woman with dyed hair and “touched-up” face: she is old enough to be the mother of a daughter of nine-and-twenty. Justina is of that age, good-looking, “smart,” and already somewhat passé. Both are fashionably but sombrely dressed.

Mrs. Emptage.

Tell me the time once more, ’Tina.

Justina.

[Referring to her watch.] A few minutes to four, mother.

Mrs. Emptage.

Does the judge of the Divorce Court invariably rise at four o’clock?

Justina.

He may sit a little later under special circumstances.

Mrs. Emptage.

To have done with a case if it’s very near its end?

Justina.

So I’m told.

Mrs. Emptage.

They must all be here soon, whether that happens or not.

Justina.

Yes, yes. Oh, but if the confounded thing should last into another day!

Mrs. Emptage.

A third day’s suspense will kill me.

Justina.

Ma, I suppose, really, we ought to be reading our Church Services or something.

Mrs. Emptage.

I can’t concentrate my attention in the least; I have been glancing at “The Yellow Book.”

Justina.

Hark! what’s that?

Mrs. Emptage.

I don’t hear anything.

Justina.

It is somebody!

[Horton, a manservant, appears.

Horton.

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

Mrs. Emptage struggles to her feet as Mrs. Quinton Twelves enters. Horton retires. Kate Twelves is a lively, handsome young woman, brightly dressed.

Justina and Mrs. Emptage.

[Throwing themselves upon her.] Kitty!

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

[Kissing them.] Well, well, well, well!

Justina.

Is it over?

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

Not quite; that is, it wasn’t when I came away. It’s all over by now, I expect.

Mrs. Emptage.

[Hysterically.] Oh, Kitty——!

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

Sssh, sssh! everything has gone swimmingly, I tell you.

Justina.

For Theophila?

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

Of course, for Theophila.

Mrs. Emptage.

[Sinking back on to the settee.] I felt sure it would.

Justina.

But what was happening when you left?

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

The dear old judge was just beginning to deliver his decision—his judgment.

Justina.

Oh, how could you come away then?

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

Certainly, it was a wrench. Only, Theo wrote little notes to Sir Fletcher Portwood and to Claude and me. [Taking a screw of paper from her glove.glove.] Here’s mine. [Reading.] “I won’t have anybody I am fond of, except my husband, in Court at the finish. They tell me they are sure I am cleared, but it frightens me to think you are all waiting. Go to mother’s.”

Mrs. Emptage.

[Taking the note.] My poor child! [Reading it.] “… they are sure I am cleared. …” ’Tina, she’s cleared!

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

Cleared! I wish you could have heard Sir John Clarkson’s opening speech for Theophila this morning. There was quite a murmur of approval when he sat down.

Justina.

He let that wretch, Mrs. Jack Allingham, have it—eh? He did!

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

He said that a morbidly jealous wife is one of the saddest spectacles the world presents; but that when her jealousy leads her to attempt to blacken the reputation, the hitherto spotless reputation, of another woman—in this instance, a young lady more happily married than herself—then that jealous wife becomes a positive danger to society.

Mrs. Emptage.

I ought to have been there, ’Tina. I said it was my duty, if you remember.

Justina.

I might have gone.

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

Certainly; and yet you have both sat at home, quaking; behaving, for all the world, as if you have a lurking suspicion that Theophila really may—really has—really did——

Mrs. Emptage.

Kate, I will not permit you to say such a thing!

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

Why these miserable-looking gowns then? You are dressed more funereally to-day than you were yesterday!

Mrs. Emptage.

[Tearfully.] If you live to see a daughter of yours, however innocent she may be, dragged through the Divorce Court——!

Justina.

We haven’t been quite certain what we ought to put on.

Mrs. Emptage.

I considered half-mourning rather a happy thought.

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

To my mind, it looks as if you had deliberately prepared for all emergencies.

Mrs. Emptage.

[Rising, in a flutter.] ’Tina, pin some flowers in your dress at once! I’ll get Bristow to stick a bit of relief about me somewhere. And I’ll wear some more rings——

[She goes out. Justina selects some cut flowers from a vase on the pianoforte.

Justina.

Oh, Kit, we were dreadfully in the dumps. Bless you for bullying us!

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

[Taking a pin from her hat.] Come here.

Justina.

[Going to Mrs. Twelves.] By Jove, though! it would have been too rough on us if—if—wouldn’t it?

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

[Attaching the flowers to the bodice of Justina’s dress.] Pray complete your sentence.

Justina.

Well—if Mrs. Allingham had made out her case against Jack Allingham and Theo.

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

For shame, ’Tina!

Justina.

Oh, you’re awfully prudish all of a sudden, Kate. You’ve very soon forgotten—— Mind that pin!

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

What are you saying?

Justina.

I mean, it isn’t as if we hadn’t all been just a leetle rapid in our time, we three girls—Theo, you, and I. You needn’t be quite so newly-married-womanish with me.

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

Shut up!

Justina.

[Glancing round.] No one’s there.

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

[In an undertone.] We always knew where to draw the line, I hope.

Justina.

Of course we did. Only, when you’re married, as Theo is, to a cold, dry mummy of a man like Alexander Fraser, the line’s apt to get drawn rather zigzag.

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

[Finishing with the flowers.] Go away!

Justina.

Thanks—they’re jolly. [Picking up a little mirror from the table, and making a wry face at herself.] I haven’t had a night’s sound sleep for weeks.

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

I should think not, with such thoughts in your head. Poor Theo! I’ve been fretting about her too, in a different way.

Justina.

[Adjusting the flowers with the aid of the mirror.] Yes, but it isn’t only Theo. I’ve been doing a bit of lying-awake on my own account, I can tell you.

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

Why?

Justina.

[Moistening her eyelashes as she again surveys her face.] Why, if this business had gone against my sister, it wouldn’t have bettered my chances—eh?

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

No, perhaps it wouldn’t.

Justina.

I’m twenty—oh, you know——

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

Nine.

Justina.

Ugh, dash it, yes! And this beastly scrape of Theophila’s has been no end of a shocker for me. From to-day I turn over the proverbial new leaf.

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

So glad, dear.

Justina.

Just fancy! I’m the only single one out of we three musketeers. Great Scot, Kate, suppose I got left!

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

[With a laugh.] ’Tina!

Justina.

But I won’t, you mark me! From to-day I’ll alter—I take my oath I will! No more slang for me, no more swears, no more smokes with the men after dinner, no more cycling at the club in knickers! I’ve been giving too much away——!

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

[Listening.] Take care!

Justina.

[Glancing round.] Claude—back.

Claude Emptage, a plain, stumpy, altogether insignificant young man enters—a young man with a pale face, red eyelids and nostrils, a dense look, and heavy, depressed manner.

Justina.

What news? Any?

Claude.

It’s finished.

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

Finished!

Justina.

Don’t tell me! How?

Claude.

It’s all right for Theo. Mrs. Allingham’s petition dismissed.

Justina.

Ho, ho! Ha, ha, ha! All right for Theo! [Clapping her hands, almost dancing. Mrs. Twelves embraces her.] All right for Theo!

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

Isn’t it splendid?

Justina.

Ha, ha, ha! All right for——! Mother! ma! ma!

[She runs out.

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

[To Claude.] You did wait then, in spite of Theo’s orders?

Claude.

No, not in Court. I hung about outside, with Uncle Fletcher, to hear the result. [Sitting, with a little groan.] Oh!

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

I must say, Claude, the victory hasn’t left you very cheerful.

Claude.

Cheerful! Think of the day I’ve spent!

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

You’ve spent!

Claude.

Theophila’s brother! [Pointing into space.] The brother of Mrs. Fraser of Locheen! The brother of the witness in the box! Every eye upon me!

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

[Drily.] I see.

Claude.

Oh, Kate, I’ve felt this business in more ways than one. It has been a terrible lesson to me.

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

[Smiling.] My poor Claudio!

Claude.

[Not looking at her.] No, don’t pity me—despise me. Kitty, how easy it is for a fellow to imperil a woman’s reputation!

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

[Amused.] Yes, isn’t it?

Claude.

We attach ourselves to a pretty married woman; we lounge in her drawing-room, her boudoir; we make her our toy, our pastime. Do we allow a single thought of the scandal we may involve her in to check us in our pursuit of pleasure?

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

[Demurely.] No, I suppose you don’t.

Claude.

Never!

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

Perhaps you had better not come to tea with me quite so frequently in the future, Claude.

Claude.

You are right; you, and others, must see less of me. [Turning to her.] And yet, Kate, I am not all bad!

Sir Fletcher Portwood enters. He is fifty-one, amiable, pompous, egotistical, foolish.

Sir Fletcher Portwood.

Why didn’t you wait for me, Claude, my boy?

Claude.

Sorry; my brain was reeling.

Sir Fletcher Portwood.

[Meeting Mrs. Twelves.] A very proper, a very satisfactory termination of this affair, Mrs. Twelves.

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

It has been awfully reassuring to see you beaming in Court, Sir Fletcher.

Sir Fletcher Portwood.

Ha! I daresay my attitude has been remarked. Beaming; why not? I’ve had no doubt as to the result.

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

No doubt of Theo’s innocence—of course not.

Sir Fletcher Portwood.

Innocent; that goes without saying—my niece. But the result, in any case, would have been much the same, I venture to think.

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

Really?

Sir Fletcher Portwood.

You see, my own public position, if I may speak of it——

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

Oh, yes.

Sir Fletcher Portwood.

[Smiling.] And I happen to know the judge—slightly perhaps; but there it is.

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

But judges are not influenced by considerations of that kind?

Sir Fletcher Portwood.

Heaven forbid I should say a word against our method of administering law in this country. The House knows my opinion of the English Judicial Bench. At the same time, judges are mortal—I have never concealed that from myself; and Sir William and I have met. [To Claude.] You saw the judge look at me this morning, Claude?

Claude.

No.

Sir Fletcher Portwood.

No? Oh, yes, and I half-smiled in return. Yesterday I couldn’t catch his eye, but today I’ve been half-smiling at him all through the proceedings.

Justina runs in, seats herself at the pianoforte, and thumps out the Wedding March.

Justina.

Well, Uncle Fletcher!

Sir Fletcher Portwood.

Ah! ha!

Justina.

What price Mrs. Allingham?

Mrs. Emptage returns. She has relieved the heaviness of her dress by a fichu of crêpe de soie.

Mrs. Emptage.

[Embracing Claude.] My darling! [Embracing Sir Fletcher.] Oh, my dear Fletcher! Be quiet, ’Tina!

[Justina plays the air of a popular music-hall melody, softly; Mrs. Twelves comes to her.

Sir Fletcher Portwood.

I told you so—hey!

Mrs. Emptage.

We all said so.

Sir Fletcher Portwood.

But I’ve been the most emphatic——

Mrs. Emptage.

Where are Theo and Alec?

Sir Fletcher Portwood.

They went over to Sir John Clarkson’s chambers directly the case concluded—I fancy, to consult him on some little point that had arisen. I managed to get one word——

Mrs. Emptage.

[Impulsively kissing Mrs. Twelves.] I’m so happy!

Sir Fletcher Portwood.

I contrived to get just one word with Alec as he was putting Theophila into the carriage. I wanted to tell him——

Mrs. Emptage.

[Pacing the room, humming the air played by Justina.] Tra, la, la! la, la! tra, la, la!

Sir Fletcher Portwood.

I wanted to tell him an amusing story I’d heard during the luncheon interval, but he hadn’t time to—— Ha, ha! It’s a legal anecdote. It appears that a fellow of the name of Babbitt once brought an action——

Mrs. Emptage.

Did the judge apologise, Fletcher?

[Justina stops playing.

Sir Fletcher Portwood.

Apologise!

Mrs. Emptage.

To Theophila?

Sir Fletcher Portwood.

A judge never apologises.

Mrs. Emptage.

He might do worse, where such undeserved distress is occasioned a young wife and her husband——

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

Hear, hear!

Mrs. Emptage.

To say nothing of her mother!

Sir Fletcher Portwood.

I surmise that the judgment of my friend Sir William was very strongly worded, and I daresay an expression of regret followed from Mrs. Allingham’s counsel. But I had quitted the Court, you know——

Mrs. Emptage.

Oh, yes; Theo wrote you a note——

Sir Fletcher Portwood.

But you are losing my anecdote. It appears that a man of the name of Babbitt—— One thing, Muriel, I will stake my reputation upon.

Mrs. Emptage.

[Peeping out at the side of the window blind.] What’s that?

Sir Fletcher Portwood.

That the public applauded the decision roundly.

Mrs. Emptage.

[Pacing the room again.] I can hear them doing it! Bravo, Mrs. Fraser! Eh, girls?

Mrs. Quinton Twelves.

Plucky Mrs. Fraser!

Justina.

How jolly to have been there just then!

Sir Fletcher Portwood.

As a matter of fact, I talked with several strangers of a humble rank of life, and hinted that a few cheers—so regrettable and unseemly in a court of law as a rule—I hinted that a few cheers would undoubtedly be justifiable in the present instance, as well as peculiarly agreeable to me. It seems that Babbitt——

[Horton enters with a card.

Mrs. Emptage.

[After glancing at the card.] Oh——!

Sir Fletcher Portwood.

Eh?

Justina.

What’s up?

Mrs. Emptage.

[To Horton.] Where is Mrs. Cloys?

[Sir Fletcher, Justina and Claude rise precipitately.

Horton.

In the morning-room, ma’am. She preferred——

Mrs. Emptage.

[Taking the card.] I—I—some one will come to her.

[Horton retires.

Sir Fletcher Portwood.

Harriet here!

Justina.

By Jove!

Claude.

[Making for the door.] No; she is too impossible.

Mrs. Emptage.

[Intercepting him.] Claude, I dare you to leave the house!

[Sir Fletcher also moves towards the door.

Mrs. Emptage.

[Stopping him.] Fletcher, you mustn’t!

Sir Fletcher Portwood.

Muriel, I distinctly prefer not to meet——

Mrs. Emptage.

But I must havehave every support; I am unequal to it otherwise. Who will fetch her upstairs? Fletcher, dear!——

Sir Fletcher Portwood.

In your establishment! Singularly inappropriate!

Mrs. Emptage.

[Turning to Justina.] Justina——

Justina.

No thanks, ma.