Miss Pringle.
My dear child.
[There is a sound of carriage wheels on the drive.]
Norah.
There they are.
Miss Pringle.
I’d better go, hadn’t I?
Norah.
I’m afraid you must.
Miss Pringle.
I do so want to know about the will. Can’t I go up to your room and wait there?
Norah.
No. I’ll tell you what, go and sit in the garden. They want to catch the four something back to London, and we can have a cosy little tea all by ourselves.
Miss Pringle.
Very well. Oh, my dear, I’m so happy in your good luck.
Norah.
Take care.
[Miss Pringle slips out into the garden, and a moment later Mr. and Mrs. Wickham enter the room. Mrs. Wickham is a pretty young woman. She is dressed in black, but her gown is elegant and fashionable. James Wickham is a clean-shaven, thin-faced man, with a baldish head. He is dressed in black and wears black kid gloves.]
Dorothy.
[Cheerfully.] Ouf! Do put the blinds up, Miss Marsh. We really needn’t be depressed any more. Jim, if you love me, take those gloves off. They’re perfectly revolting.
[Norah goes to the window and draws up the blind.]
Wickham.
Why, what’s wrong with them? The fellow in the shop told me they were the right thing.
Dorothy.
I never saw anyone look quite so funereal as you do.
Wickham.
Well, you didn’t want me to get myself up as though I were going to a wedding, did you?
Norah.
Were there many people?
Dorothy.
Quite a lot. The sort of people who indulge in other people’s funerals as a mild form of dissipation.
Wickham.
[Looking at his watch.] I hope Wynne will look sharp. I don’t want to miss that train.
Dorothy.
Who were all those stodgy old things who wrung your hand afterwards, Jim?
Wickham.
I can’t think. They made me feel such a fool.
Dorothy.
Oh, was that it? I saw you looking a perfect owl, and I thought you were giving a very bad imitation of restrained emotion.
Wickham.
[Remonstrating.] Dorothy.
Norah.
Would you like some tea, Mrs. Wickham?
Dorothy.
Well, you might send some in so that it’ll be ready when Mr. Wynne comes.
[Norah is just going to ring the bell, but Mrs. Wickham stops her with a pleasant smile.]
We’ll ring for you, shall we? I daresay you’ve got one or two things you want to do now.
Norah.
Very good, Mrs. Wickham.
[She goes out.]
Wickham.
I say, Dorothy, you oughtn’t to be facetious before Miss Marsh. She was extremely attached to Aunt Louisa.
Dorothy.
Oh, what nonsense! It’s always a very good rule to judge people by oneself, and I’m positive she was just longing for the old lady to die.
Wickham.
She was awfully upset at the end.
Dorothy.
Nerves! Men are so idiotic. They never understand that there are tears and tears. I cried myself, and heaven knows I didn’t regret her death.
Wickham.
My dear Dorothy, you oughtn’t to say that.
Dorothy.
Why not? It’s perfectly true. Aunt Louisa was a detestable person and no one would have stood her for a minute if she hadn’t had money. I don’t see any use in being a hypocrite now that it can’t make any difference either way.
Wickham.
[Looking at his watch again.] I wish Wynne would hurry up. It’ll be beastly inconvenient if we miss that train.
Dorothy.
I don’t trust Miss Marsh. She looks as if she knew what was in the will.
Wickham.
I don’t suppose she does. Aunt Louisa wasn’t the sort of person to talk.
Dorothy.
I’m sure she knows she’s been left something.
Wickham.
Oh, well, I think she has a right to expect that. Aunt Louisa led her a dog’s life.
Dorothy.
She had wages and a comfortable home. If she didn’t like the place she could have left it.... After all it’s family money. I don’t think Aunt Louisa had the right to leave it to strangers.
Wickham.
We oughtn’t to complain if Miss Marsh gets a small annuity. Aunt Louisa promised her something of the sort when she had a chance of marrying a couple of years ago.
Dorothy.
Miss Marsh is quite young. It isn’t as if she’d been here for thirty years.
Wickham.
Well, I’ve got an idea that Aunt Louisa meant to leave her about two hundred and fifty a year.
Dorothy.
But what’s the estate?
Wickham.
About nineteen thousand pounds, I believe.
Dorothy.
Oh, it’s absurd. It’s a most unfair proportion. It makes all the difference to us. On that extra two hundred and fifty a year we could almost keep a car.
Wickham.
My dear, be thankful if we get anything at all.
Dorothy.
[Aghast.] Jim! [She stares at him.] Jim, you don’t think! Oh! That would be too horrible.
Wickham.
Take care.
[The door opens and Kate brings in the tea-things. She puts them on a small table.]
How lucky it is we had a fine day, isn’t it?
Dorothy.
Yes.
Wickham.
It looks as if we were going to have a spell of fine weather.
Dorothy.
Yes.
Wickham.
It’s funny how often it rains for weddings.
Dorothy.
Very funny.
[Exit Kate.]
I’ve been counting on that money for years. I used to dream at night that I was reading a telegram with the news of Aunt Louisa’s death. And I’ve thought of all we should be able to do when we got it. It’ll make such a difference.
Wickham.
You know what she was. She didn’t care two-pence for us. We ought to be prepared for the worst.
Dorothy.
D’you think she could have left everything to Miss Marsh?
Wickham.
I shouldn’t be surprised.
Dorothy.
We’ll dispute the will. It’s undue influence. I suspected Miss Marsh from the beginning. I hate her. Oh, why doesn’t Wynne come?
[There is a ring at the bell.]
Wickham.
Here he is, I expect.
Dorothy.
The suspense is too awful.
Wickham.
Pull yourself together, old girl. And I say, look a bit dismal. After all, we’ve just come from a funeral.
Dorothy.
Are we downhearted?
[Kate enters to announce Mr. Wynne.]
Kate.
Mr. Wynne.
[He enters and she goes out and closes the door. Mr. Wynne, the late Miss Wickham’s solicitor, is a tallish man with a bald head. He has the red cheeks and hearty manner of a man who plays in his spare time at being a country gentleman. He is dressed in mourning because he has been to Miss Wickham’s funeral.]
Wickham.
Hulloa!
Wynne.
[Taking Dorothy’s hand rather solemnly.] I didn’t have an opportunity of shaking hands with you at the cemetery.
Dorothy.
[Somewhat helplessly.] How do you do?
Wynne.
Pray accept my sincerest sympathy on your great bereavement.
Dorothy.
Of course, the end was not entirely unexpected.
Wynne.
No, I know. But it must have been a grea
t shock all the same.
Wickham.
My wife was very much upset, but of course my poor aunt had suffered great pain, and we couldn’t help looking upon it as a happy release.
Wynne.
How is Miss Marsh?
[Dorothy gives him a quick look, wondering whether there is anything behind the polite inquiry.]
Dorothy.
Oh, she’s very well.
Wynne.
Her devotion to Miss Wickham was wonderful. Dr. Evans — he’s my brother-in-law, you know — told me no trained nurse could have been more competent. She was like a daughter to Miss Wickham.
Dorothy.
[Rather coldly.] I suppose we’d better send for her.
Wickham.
Have you brought the.... [He stops in some embarrassment.]
Wynne.
Yes, I have it in my pocket.
Dorothy.
I’ll ring.
[She touches the bell.]
Wickham.
I expect Mr. Wynne would like a cup of tea, Dorothy.
Dorothy.
Oh, I’m so sorry, I quite forgot about it.
Wynne.
No, thank you very much. I never take tea.
[He takes a long envelope out of his pocket, and from it the will. He smooths it out reflectively. Dorothy gives the document a nervous glance. Kate comes in.]
Wickham.
Will you ask Miss Marsh to be good enough to come here.
Kate.
Very good, sir.
[Exit.]
Dorothy.
What is the time, Jim?
Wickham.
[Looking at his watch.] Oh, there’s no hurry. [To Wynne.] We’ve got an important engagement in London this evening. We’re very anxious not to miss the fast train.
Dorothy.
The train service is rotten.
Wynne.
The will is very short. It won’t take me two minutes to read it.
Dorothy.
[Nervous and impatient.] What on earth is Miss Marsh doing?
Wynne.
How pretty the garden is looking now.
Wickham.
[Abruptly.] Very.
Wynne.
Miss Wickham was always so interested in her garden.
Dorothy.
Yes.
Wynne.
My own tulips aren’t so advanced as those.
Wickham.
[Irritably.] Aren’t they?
Wynne.
[To Dorothy.] Are you interested in gardening?
Dorothy.
[Hardly able to control her impatience.] No, I hate it.... At last!
[The door is opened and Miss Marsh comes in. Wynne gets up.]
Wynne.
How d’you do, Miss Marsh?
Norah.
How d’you do?
Wickham.
Will you have a cup of tea?
Dorothy.
[All nerves.] Jim, Miss Marsh would much prefer to have tea quietly after we’re gone.
Norah.
[With a faint smile.] I won’t have any tea, thank you.
Dorothy.
Mr. Wynne has brought the will with him.
Norah.
Oh, yes.
[She sits down calmly. Dorothy, with clenched hands, watches her. She tries to make out from her face whether Norah knows anything.]
Wynne.
Miss Marsh, so far as you know, there’s no other will?
Norah.
How d’you mean?
Wynne.
Miss Wickham didn’t make a later one — without my assistance, I mean? You know of nothing in the house, for instance?
Norah.
[Quite decidedly.] Oh, no. Miss Wickham always said you had her will. She was extremely methodical.
Wynne.
I feel I ought to ask because she consulted me about making a fresh will a couple of years ago. She told me what she wanted to do, but gave me no actual instructions to draw it. I thought perhaps she might have done it herself.
Norah.
I heard nothing about it. I’m sure that her only will is in your hands.
Wynne.
Then I think we may take it that this....
[Dorothy suddenly understands; she interrupts quickly.]
Dorothy.
When was that will made?
Wynne.
Eight or nine years ago.... The exact date was March 4th, 1904.
[Dorothy gives Norah a long, searching look.]
Dorothy.
When did you first come to Miss Wickham?
Norah.
At the end of nineteen hundred and three.
[There is a slight pause.]
Wynne.
Shall I read it, or would you just like to know the particulars? It is very short.
Dorothy.
Let us just know roughly.
Wynne.
Well, Miss Wickham left one hundred pounds to the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, and one hundred pounds to the General Hospital at Tunbridge Wells, and the entire residue of her fortune to her nephew, Mr. James Wickham.
[Dorothy gives a sharp inspiration of triumph. She looks again at Norah, but Norah gives no sign of emotion.]
Wickham.
And Miss Marsh?
Wynne.
Miss Marsh is not mentioned.
Norah.
[With a faint smile.] I could hardly expect to be. At the time the will was drawn I had been Miss Wickham’s companion for only a few months.
Wynne.
That is why I asked whether you knew of any later will. When I talked to Miss Wickham on the subject she said her wish was to make adequate provision for you after her death. I think she had spoken to you about it.
Norah.
Yes.
Wynne.
She mentioned three hundred a year.
Norah.
That was very kind of her. I’m glad she wished to do something for me.
Wynne.
Oddly enough she spoke about it to Dr. Evans only a few days before she died.
Wickham.
Perhaps there is a later will somewhere?
Wynne.
I honestly don’t think so.
Norah.
I’m sure there isn’t.
Wynne.
Dr. Evans was talking to Miss Wickham about Miss Marsh. She was tired out and he wanted Miss Wickham to have a professional nurse. She told him then that I had the will and she had left Miss Marsh amply provided for.
Dorothy.
[Quickly.] That isn’t legal, of course?
Wynne.
What isn’t?
Dorothy.
I mean, no one could force us — I mean, the will stands as it is, doesn’t it?
Wynne.
Certainly.
Wickham.
I’m afraid it’s a great disappointment to you, Miss Marsh.
Norah.
[Lightly.] I never count my chickens before they’re hatched.
Wynne.
It would be very natural if Miss Marsh were disappointed under the circumstances. I think she’d been led to expect....
Dorothy.
[Interrupting.] Our aunt left a very small fortune, I understand, and I suppose she felt it wouldn’t be fair to leave a large part of it away from her own family.
Wickham.
Of course, it is family money; she inherited it from my grandfather, and ... but I want you to know, Miss Marsh, that my wife and I thoroughly appreciate all you did for my aunt. Money couldn’t repay your care and devotion. You’ve been perfectly wonderful.
Norah.
It’s extremely good of you to say so. I was very fond of Miss Wickham. Nothing I did for her was any trouble.
Wynne.
I think everyone who saw Miss Marsh with Miss Wickham must be aware that during the ten years she was with her she never spared herself.
Wickham.
[Hesitatingly, w
ith a glance at his wife.] Of course, my aunt was a very trying woman.
Dorothy.
[Agreeably.] Earning one’s living is always unpleasant. If it weren’t there’d be no incentive to work.
[Norah gives her a glance of quiet amusement at this surprising remark.]
Wickham.
My wife and I would be very glad to make some kind of acknowledgment of your services.
Dorothy.
I was just going to mention it.
Wynne.
[Brightening a little.] I felt sure that under the circumstances....
Dorothy.
[Interrupting him quickly.] What were your wages, Miss Marsh?
Norah.
Thirty pounds a year.
Dorothy.
Really? Many ladies are glad to go as companion without any salary, just for the sake of a home and congenial society. I daresay you’ve been able to save a good deal in all these years.
Norah.
[Frigidly.] I had to dress myself decently, Mrs. Wickham.
Dorothy.
[With all the charm she can put into her manner.] Well, I’m sure my husband will be very glad to give you a year’s salary, won’t you, Jim?
Norah.
It’s very kind of you, but I’m not inclined to accept anything but what’s legally due to me.
Dorothy.
[Undisturbed.] You must remember that there’ll be very heavy death duties to pay. They’ll swallow up the income from Miss Wickham’s estate for at least two years, won’t they, Mr. Wynne?
Norah.
I quite understand.
Dorothy.
Perhaps you’ll change your mind.
Norah.
I don’t think so.
[There is a slight, rather awkward pause. Mr. Wynne gets up. His manner shows that he is not impressed by Mrs. Wickham’s generosity.]
Wynne.
Well, I think I must leave you.
Wickham.
We must go, too, Dorothy.
Dorothy.
[Quite at ease.] Oh, it’ll only take five minutes to get down to the station in a cab.
Wynne.
Good-bye, Miss Marsh. If I can be of any help to you I hope you’ll let me know.
Norah.
That’s very kind of you.
Wynne.
[To Dorothy.] Good-bye.
[He bows slightly to her, nods to Wickham and during Dorothy’s next speech goes out.]
Dorothy.
[Very friendly and affable.] Jim will be writing to you in a day or two. You know how grateful we both are for all you did for our poor aunt. We shall be glad to give you the very highest references.
Wickham.
[Relieved to be able to offer something.] Oh, yes, we’ll do everything we can.
Dorothy.
You’re such a wonderful nurse, I’m sure you’ll have no difficulty in getting another situation. I expect I can find you something myself. I’ll ask among all my friends.
Delphi Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (Illustrated) Page 384
