by Tom Murphy
Vicar . . . Heaven forgive me for my rage. Thus to bring your grey hairs, Deborah, prematurely to the grave . . . But, yes, I’ll pursue them. I must go and find her and bring her back.
Mrs Primrose She has brought us to shame but she will never more deceive us.
Vicar (leaving the scene) No, my dear. (Returns to prison – to how he was at the top of the play.) But thus continued the misfortunes, that started out by leaving me no better off than a beggar, to sever the love-knot that was my family. And they would continue, to leave me the incumbent of these offices (prison), and to bring death to . . . to my family’s fairest member. But I’ll continue to do my duty . . . No, my dear, I said. My son, fetch me my staff; daughter, hand me my Bible. We shall hearken to the music of Livy’s voice again. I will find her wherever she is and, though I cannot save her from shame, I may prevent the continuance of her iniquity.
Act Three
Scene One
The Road/Promenade
Vicar, walking. Walking, walking, walking . . . But first, perhaps, we see George, begging, singing ‘An Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog’.
Good people all, of every sort,
Give ear unto my song;
And if you find it wond’rous short,
It cannot hold you long.
In Islington there was a man . . .
Vicar I walked earnestly to the town of Welbridge, thinking that if I did not find them there, I would take the road to London. There I was met by someone who had seen the pair twenty miles further on, and twenty miles further on there was always someone else to direct me to a greater remove.
Figures now, meant to be a crowd engaged in some kind of revelry. Perhaps they are lit behind a gauze and they grow light and dark, their sounds rising and falling: Vicar’s mind is growing feverish. George is among them, continuing his song.
George
And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp and hound,
And curs of low degree . . .
Vicar Then, one evening, I came upon a place. The company made a brilliant appearance, all engaged in one pursuit, that of pleasure. At one moment I thought I perceived . . . Lady Blarney? . . . At another, I fancied I saw my eldest son, George, actually singing for his supper.
George (and Crowd)
The dog and man at first were friends,
But when a pique began,
The dog to gain some private ends,
Went mad and bit the man . . .
Vicar The agitation of my mind and the fatigues I had undergone were inducing . . . inducing a fever . . . Dear old Blackberry, and the long-legged rogue that . . . My most charming Miss Wilmot? And her heterodox . . . heterodox father who had . . . So many familiar faces, none of them my darling Livy’s.
He collapses in a faint. George from one direction, from another Miss Wilmot – and her father, Reverend Wilmot, a moment later – to Vicar’s aid.
George Father!
Miss Wilmot Sir!
George Miss Wilmot!
Miss Wilmot Mr Primrose! To what happy accident do I owe the pleasure of your visit to my home town?
George I was on my way to Welbridge, seeking to enlist in – But my father is unwell.
Wilmot This man has fainted! He must be taken to my house at once!
The Crowd complete the song as Vicar is helped/carried off.
Crowd
But soon a wonder came to light,
That showed the rogues they lied:
The man recover’d of the bite,
The dog it was that died.
Scene Two
Wilmots’ House
George and Miss Wilmot sit by a couch on which the Vicar is sleeping.
Miss Wilmot Shall we ever again see such pleasing hours as were once spent round your father’s fireside at Wakefield, Mr Primrose?
George How remote they seem now, Miss Wilmot.
Miss Wilmot Shall we ever see them again?
Vicar But we’ll see better ones yet.
He has awoken. And Wilmot is coming in.
Wilmot I fancy, young sir, you have seen a great deal of the world and I have no doubt that an account of your adventures would be most amusing. (He looks at his watch.)
George I promise, Sir, the pleasure you have in hearing will not be half so great as my vanity in repeating them. I –
Vicar My son’s account was lengthy. No other child of mine had such a knack of hoping and of failing. Since leaving us, he had been an usher, a sailor, a musician of sorts, a street vendor, a serious writer, and a drama critic. However, it was the account of his next profession that held most interest. Yes, my son?
George Then, one day, whilst reflecting that whichever way the new revolution of the wheel, it could only lift and not depress, I met Ned Thornhill and was employed by him.
Miss Wilmot (as surprised as the others) Mr Thornhill?
Wilmot We have been waiting Mr Thornhill’s visit for two weeks. He was to arrive to sign in my presence a marriage contract drawn up by his uncle. Some unforeseen business has been detaining him but he has promised again for today. What did your position with Mr Thornhill entail?
George My position with Mr Thornhill entailed that I attend him at auctions, keep him in spirits when he sat for his picture, carry the corkscrew and stand godfather to the butler’s children.
Wilmot How long were you in this-this-this – ?
George In this honourable position I was not without a rival. There was another that was better formed for it, having early acquired a taste for pimping and pedigree, and having a talent for impersonation: the role of cleric being a favourite of his. Thus opposed in my patron’s affections, I was going to give up the field when my good employer found another use for me.
Miss Wilmot Oh, what was that?
George This was to fight a duel for him, Miss Wilmot, with a gentleman, whose sister Mr Thornhill had used ill.
Wilmot What a good report, and now –
George I undertook the affair and disarmed my antagonist, but soon had the pleasure of discovering that the lady was only a woman of the town.
Wilmot What an interesting career! And now –
George And then –
Wilmot Is it not time for Dr Primrose’s broth?
Vicar I’ve had it: there’s the – (Bowl ).
George Then, Mr Thornhill and his companion left for the country with two more ladies of the town –
Wilmot Horses! (He hears horses in the yard and goes out.)
George But not before Mr Thornhill had given me a token of his gratitude. This was a letter of recommendation to his uncle.
Vicar Do you mean Sir William Thornhill, George – that you have met him?!
George ‘I will have nothing to do with you,’ said Sir William, for he guessed I’d fought a duel for his nephew. ‘And I wish, sincerely wish,’ said he, ‘that Sir William Thornhill’s refusal to have anything to do with you will be punishment for your guilt.’ (His eyes brim with tears: the unfairness of it all.)
Vicar But the rebuke was just, my son.
George retires with tear-filled eyes.
Vicar His hope will buoy him up anon
Thornhill (off) Hulloo-hulloo! Mr Wilmot, Miss Wilmot, Ned Thornhill’s here! (Coming in.) Your servant, everybody! Miss Wilmot, your obedient! (Sees Vicar.) By the powders!
Vicar Mr Thornhill, how nice to see you!
Miss Wilmot Pray excuse while I get my father. (And she goes out.)
Thornhill What’re you doing here, Vicar?
Vicar We’re old friends. Miss Wilmot was once affianced to my eldest son.
Thornhill Was she indeed! And what of your enquiries about your daughter?
Vicar I fear I’ve drawn a blank so far.
Thornhill Excellent. But have you told them of her misfortune?
Vicar Why blight the Wilmots with the news?
Thornhill I approve your caution, for to make it known is at best a d
ivulging of one’s own infamy. Which, by the way, I called on your family.
Vicar Oh, how are my dear ones?
Thornhill Excellent. Your younger daughter is extremely so.
Miss Wilmot, looking at her father, is returning to the room.
Wilmot has the marriage contract in his hand.
Miss Wilmot But, Father –
Wilmot Young Primrose’s reports are the product of a mind crazed with jealousy! The young man, like his father, is raving.
Miss Wilmot But, Father –
Wilmot Daughter! do you suggest renaging on a match with Thornhill money? On a contract drawn up by Sir William Thornhill himself?
Thornhill Ah, sir, howdyehdo, howdyehdo! And, again, most humble apologies for being unable to attend you sooner.
Wilmot (coolly) We were not greatly inconvenienced, sir.
Thornhill Then think nothing of it. (He sees George.) Ah! How are you, Giles, how are you!
Miss Wilmot George, sir. (Coldly.)
Thornhill George, Sir, t’be sure! I have always called him Giles and he has always called me Willie. What’re you doing here, George?
George I was on my way to Welbridge, seeking to enlist as a volunteer when I met –
Thornhill You haven’t a moment to lose. The Queen’s Own Seconds are embarking for the West Indies on the weekend and if you take a note to my old friend, Captain Lovelady, at the regimental barracks, it will procure for you an ensign’s commission. I happen to know that the going rate for a commission is three hundred pounds – you haven’t got it, I suppose? Then here’s another note to guarantee that sum – what d’you say? You want a moment to think. Then, in the meantime – is that the marriage contract, sir? – as I have quill in hand –
Wilmot, yielding to a glance/gesture from Miss Wilmot, withholds the contract for a moment, while George confers with Vicar.
George There is no way to contest a courtship with honour, is there, Father? I thought not, Sir. Had I but distinguished myself in profession, for she has, I know, more than enough for two. Permission, Father, to go to the West Indies.
Thornhill Yes, let him go! –
Vicar Your quill, sir. (Writes an IOU for Thornhill.)
Thornhill ’Twill make a man of him!
Vicar And here is my bond, Mr Thornhill, for the three hundred pounds you give my son. And I thank you.
Thornhill (pockets the ‘bond’) Think nothing of it. And now the marriage contract. (He signs it.)
George (tearfully) Goodbye, Miss Wilmot.
Miss Wilmot (tearfully) Goodbye, Mr Primrose.
Thornhill There! (Signed. Pockets marriage contract.) I hope that you’ll be very happy, Miss Wilmot. (He leaves.)
All leave – various directions.
Vicar And the next morning I too took my leave to resume the search for my daughter. In all, I was a month away from home.
He walks off.
Scene Three
Outside/Inside the Inn
Landlady, outside, presumably coming from a well because she is carrying two buckets of water, muttering, to go into the inn. The inn as in Act One, Scene Three. Drunken, belching, smiling Landlord, immobile throughout, and his sloven-drudge wife. Both are drunk on this occasion. It is night.
Landlady Toiling, moiling, out in hail, rain, snow, house agoing up the chimbley, out the windows and all he does: sits-n-soaks, sits-n-soaks. ‘Aye!’ (And a belch/hiccup of her own.) Oh, Tom Symonds, you use me ill, you use me sore!
Landlord (his belch) Aye!
Landlady (her belch/hiccup) And whereas if two drops of liquor were to cure me of a famine, fever, pox or plague, I’d only ever bide the one to cross my lips. (Through the following, she sits, drinking from a tankard.) But, no, I ool bear it no longer. He’d as lief eat that glass he holds as budge as see to her is lodged upstairs right now and mind her o’ her reckoning. Sittin’ there, smiling sweeter than the babes in stone a-top the tombs in chapel. Well, as all can see, there’s others too can sit relaxed and take their ease.
Landlord Aye!
Landlady ‘Aye!’ (And a belch of her own.)
Olivia – frightened, frail – enters background, stealthily, mug in hand, to steal a drink of water from one of the buckets.
Landlady But does he care? . . . And I tell thee, Tom, for all her airs and o’er-civility she dunna got a rap. She up there, a-swimming round her room like a marigold in broth.
Landlord We ool have it in a lump.
Landlady But does he care, does he . . . We ool have it in a – ? (Rage.) We ool have it now whichever way! We ool have it now or out she tramps! (Rage subsiding.) All falls down on my back, all – (A belch.) Always falls on me to do the dunning . . . . Blood-n-oons! . . . Stand!
She has seen Olivia – ‘Blood-n-oons!’ One hand is raised, commanding Olivia to wait while she drains her tankard.
Olivia (petrified. ‘It is but’) Water. (‘For my’.) Thirst.
Landlord (completely unperturbed) But consider, dear Floss, she be a gentlewoman, deserves a deal o’ more respect from likes o’ you.
Landlady Likes o’?!
Landlord Aye!
Landlady Gentle – ?! She be a trollop! ’N’ a strumpet-n-a harlot-n-a hussy-n-a-jade! And out o’ here she’s going with a sassarara!
Olivia Pity, madam –
Landlady Likes o’ me! Come along, I say! Five nights here and not once yet seen sight or light o’ money!
Olivia Only for one night more, let me –
Landlady Out, you scrub! Tramp, you baggage! Pack at once and – No! you’ll leave your pack behind. Out, this now or I’ll leave you with a mark to last you a three-month!
She has ejected Olivia. Now, returning, muttering again, collecting her buckets, taking them off.
Landlady ‘Pity, madam’! What trumpery! To take up lodgings in a Christian house without cross or coin to bless herself . . .
Landlord Aye! (Retiring, presumably to get more drink.) Aye!
We are outside the inn again. There is no sign of Olivia. Vicar comes along the road. He’s tired – perhaps even bewildered. He sees the inn. Stops, feels his pockets (no money); goes on; stops, considers a tree (shelter); about to go on.
Olivia’s Voice (a whisper) Papa.
He reacts but, then, thinks it’s his imagination and is setting off again.
Olivia’s Voice Papa.
Vicar (silently) Livy.
Olivia appears out of the darkness.
Vicar (a whisper) Olivia? . . . Livy? . . . Oh, child! (She turns her head away: shame.) Oh no, child. No. (He goes to her, embraces her, holds her.) Welcome, welcome, my lost one, my dearest, dearest Livy.
Olivia Oh, Papa, I am forsaken.
Vicar No. No. You are not foresaken. You are safe now and all is forgiven.
Olivia Oh, Papa.
Vicar No. And if you had ten thousand crimes to offer, I would forget them all. Come, shelter here beside me.
They sit on a log/stone under a tree. He has half of his coat – like a wing – around her.
Olivia Oh, Papa, Papa.
Vicar Rest, my fondling. Sleep.
Olivia Oh, Papa.
Vicar Sleep, my princess.
Olivia Oh, Papa. (She is falling asleep.) Oh, Papa.
Vicar My treasure. My beloved child. You will never see a change in my affections. Yes, sleep. And tomorrow I shall take you home. We shall yet be happy. (He looks up at the heavens, wondering will they yet be happy.) I’m convinced of it. (Then he sighs and stares out at the night.)
Scene Four
The Road
Morning through to night. Vicar and Olivia are walking fast. She is animated; she has so much to tell him.
Olivia And on my very first day in town – oh, that villain! – he introduced me to another unhappy woman he had deceived but who lived in contented prostitution. I loved him too tenderly to bear such rivals in his affections. Oh! and the gentlemen who visited there: they told me every moment – every moment! – of my charms, and then, one da
y, the monster had the assurance to offer me to one of them.
Vicar Tck! . . . But what surprises me is that a person such as Mr Burchill – even granting him mixed senses – could have the imagination!
Olivia Mr – ? You labour under some mistake, Papa. Mr Burchill never attempted to deceive me. It was Ned. It was Mr Thornhill. (They stop.) Yes! And Lady Blarney and Miss Skeggs? They were two abandoned women more, without pity or breeding, decoys being used by Mr Thornhill to get Sophy and me to London. And when that plan did not work –
Vicar (off, briskly again) Ah, Thornhill! My first suspicions were only too well grounded. (Stops.) But what surprises me is that the impressions of the education I gave you could be so swiftly – obliterated?
This seems to surprise Olivia too, for all she can do is shrug her incomprehension of it.
Olivia (off again) And I strove to forget myself, Papa. I danced, I sang, dressed, I talked – a tumult of pleasures! But still I was unhappy, because I knew that the ceremony which was privately performed was in no way binding and I had nothing to trust to but his honour.
Vicar What! (Stops.) But were you married – and by a priest – a priest in Orders?
Olivia By Mr Jenks, Mr Thornhill’s companion.
Vicar But, my child, you are a thousand times more welcome for you are his wife and therefore sinless! You have been joined in the great institution of matrimony. No law of man – though it be written on tables of adamant! – can lessen that sacred and holy estate.
Olivia (walking again, this time, slowly) Ah, Papa, you are too little acquainted with the world. I was his mistress, not his wife.
Vicar No.
Olivia Ned, Mr Thornhill, cares little for the sacredness of matrimony or the principles of monogamy. Mr Thornhill has been married to several others like me.
Vicar (off, briskly again) No! (He’s stubborn on the matter.)
Olivia (hangs back) The design was to seduce me under the pretext of marriage. A mock licence, a mock priest.
Vicar (returns to her) Reverend Jenks?
Olivia He is counterfeit too.
Vicar Then we must hang him tomorrow!
A sound escapes, a laugh as at his sudden pique, but it slides into tears. Night is gathering around them.
Vicar (gently) There is but a mile or so to go.
