Delphi Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (Illustrated)
Page 387
Norah.
What d’you want me to do?
Marsh.
Well, you’ve got to live with Gertie. Why can’t you make the best of things and meet her half way? You might make allowances for her even if you think her unreasonable.
Norah.
I’ll have a try.
Marsh.
I think you ought to apologise for what you said to her just now.
Norah.
I? I’ve got nothing to apologise for. She drove me to distraction.
[There is a moment’s pause. Marsh, now that he has come to the object of all he has been saying, is a little embarrassed.]
Marsh.
She says she won’t speak to you again until you beg her pardon.
Norah.
Does she look upon that as a great hardship?
Marsh.
My dear, we’re twelve miles from the nearest store. We’re thrown upon one another through the whole of the winter. Last year there was a bad blizzard, and for six weeks we didn’t see a soul outside the farm. Unless we learn to put up with one another’s whims life becomes a perfect hell.
Norah.
You can go on talking all night, Eddie — I’ll never apologise. Time after time when she sneered at me till my blood boiled. I’ve kept my temper. She deserved ten times more than I said. D’you think I’m going to knuckle under to a woman like that?
Marsh.
Remember she’s my wife, Norah.
Norah.
Why didn’t you marry a lady?
Marsh.
What the dickens d’you think is the use of being a lady out here?
Norah.
You’ve degenerated since you left England.
Marsh.
Now, look here, my dear, I’ll just tell you what Gertie did for me. She was a waitress in Winnipeg at the Minnedosa Hotel, and she was making money. She knew what the life was on a farm, much harder than anything she’d been used to in the city, but she accepted all the hardship of it, and the monotony — because she loved me.
Norah.
She thought it a good match. You were a gentleman.
Marsh.
Fiddledidee. She had the chance of much better men than me.... And when I lost my harvest two years running, d’you know what she did? She went back to the hotel in Winnipeg for the winter so as to carry things on till the next harvest. And at the end of the winter she gave me every cent she’d earned to pay the interest of my mortgage and the instalments on the machinery.
[There is a pause.]
Norah.
Very well, I’ll apologise. But leave me alone with her. I — I don’t think I could do it before anyone else.
Marsh.
All right. I’ll go and tell her.
[He goes out. Norah is left alone with her thoughts. In a moment Gertie comes back, followed by Marsh.]
Norah.
[Trying to take things lightly.] I’ve been getting on with the ironing.
Gertie.
Have you?
Norah.
[With a smile.] That is one of the few things I can do all right.
Gertie.
Any child can iron.
Marsh.
Well, I’ll be going down to the shed.
Gertie.
[Turning to him quickly.] What for?
Marsh.
I want to see about mending that door. It hasn’t been closing properly.
Gertie.
I thought Norah had something to say to me.
Marsh.
That’s what I’m going to leave you alone for.
Gertie.
I like that. She insults me before everybody and then when she’s going to apologise it’s got to be private. No, thank you.
Norah.
What d’you mean, Gertie?
Gertie.
You sent Ed in to tell me you was going to apologise for what you’d said, didn’t you?
Norah.
For peace and quietness.
Gertie.
Well, what you said was before the men, and it’s before the men you must say you’re sorry.
Norah.
How can you ask me to do such a thing!
Marsh.
Don’t be rough on her, Gertie. No one likes apologising.
Gertie.
People who don’t like apologising should keep a better lookout on their tongue.
Marsh.
It can’t do you any good to have her eat humble pie before the men.
Gertie.
Perhaps not, but it’ll do her good.
Norah.
Gertie, don’t be cruel. I’m sorry if I lost my temper just now and said anything that hurt you. Please don’t make me humiliate myself before the others.
Gertie.
I’ve made up my mind, so it’s no good talking.
Norah.
Don’t you see it’s bad enough to beg your pardon before Eddie?
Gertie.
[Irritably.] Why don’t you call him Ed like the rest of us? Eddie sounds so soppy.
Norah.
I’ve called him Eddie all my life.... It’s what his mother called him.
Gertie.
You do everything you can to make yourself different from all of us.
Norah.
No, I don’t, I promise you I don’t. Why won’t you give me any credit for trying to do my best to please you?
Gertie.
That’s neither here nor there. Go and fetch the men, Ed, and then I’ll hear what she’s got to say.
Norah.
No, I won’t, I won’t, I won’t. You drive me too far.
Gertie.
You won’t beg my pardon?
Norah.
[Beside herself.] I said I could teach you manners. I made a mistake, I couldn’t teach you manners. One can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.
Marsh.
[Sharply.] Shut up, Norah.
Gertie.
Now you must make her, Ed.
Marsh.
I’m sick to death of the pair of you.
Gertie.
I’m your wife, and I’m going to be mistress of this house.
Marsh.
It’s horrible to make her eat humble pie before three strange men. You’ve got no right to ask her to do a thing like that.
Gertie.
[Furiously.] Are you taking her part? What’s come over you since she come here? You’re not the same to me as you used to be. Why did she come here and get between us?
Marsh.
I haven’t done anything.
Gertie.
Haven’t I been a good wife to you? Have you ever had any complaint to make about me?
Marsh.
You know I haven’t.
Gertie.
As soon as your sister comes along you let me be insulted. You don’t say a word to defend me.
Marsh.
[With a grim smile.] Darling, you’ve said a good many to defend yourself.
Gertie.
I’m sick and tired of being put upon. You must choose between us.
Marsh.
What on earth d’you mean?
Gertie.
If you don’t make her apologise right now before the hired men I’m quit of you.
Marsh.
I can’t make her apologise if she won’t.
Gertie.
Then let her quit.
Norah.
Oh, I wish I could. I wish to God I could.
Marsh.
You know she can’t do that. There’s nowhere she can go. I’ve offered her a home. You were quite willing when I suggested having her here.
Gertie.
I was willing because I thought she’d make herself useful. We can’t afford to feed folks as don’t earn their keep. We have to work for our money, we do.
Norah.
I didn’t know you grudged me the little I eat. I wonder if I should if I were in your place.
Mars
h.
Look here, it’s no good talking. I’m not going to turn her out. As long as she wants a home the farm’s open to her. And she’s welcome to everything I’ve got.
Gertie.
Then you choose her?
Marsh.
[Irritably.] I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Gertie.
I said you’d got to choose between us. Very well. Let her stay. I earned my living before, and I can earn it again. I’m going.
Marsh.
Don’t talk such nonsense.
Gertie.
You think I don’t mean it? D’you think I’m going to stay here and be put upon? Why should I?
Marsh.
Don’t you — love me any more?
Gertie.
Haven’t I shown that I love you? Have you forgotten, Ed?
Marsh.
We’ve gone through so much together, darling.
Gertie.
[Hesitatingly.] Yes, we have that.
Marsh.
Won’t you forgive her?
Gertie.
No, I can’t. You’re a man, you don’t understand. If she won’t apologise, either she must go or I shall.
Marsh.
I can’t lose you, Gertie. What should I do without you?
Gertie.
I guess you know me well enough by now. When I say a thing I do it.
Norah.
Eddie.
Marsh.
[Ill at ease.] After all, she’s my wife. If it weren’t for her I should be hiring out now at forty dollars a month.
[Norah hesitates for a moment, then she makes up her mind.]
Norah.
[Hoarsely.] Very well, I’ll do what you want.
Marsh.
You do insist on it, Gertie?
Gertie.
Of course I do.
Marsh.
I’ll go and call the men.
Norah.
Frank Taylor needn’t come, need he?
Gertie.
Why not?
Norah.
He’s going away to-day. It can’t much matter about him, surely.
Gertie.
Why are you so particular about it, then?
Norah.
The others are English. He’ll like to see me humiliated. He looks upon women as dirt. He’s.... Oh, I don’t know, but not before him.
Gertie.
It’ll do you a world of good to be taken down a peg or two, my lady.
Norah.
Oh, how heartless — how cruel.
Gertie.
Go on, Ed — I want to get on with my work.
[Marsh hesitates a moment, then shrugs his shoulders and goes out.]
Norah.
[Passionately.] Why do you humiliate me like this?
Gertie.
You came here and thought you knew everything, I guess. You didn’t know who you’d got to deal with.
Norah.
I was a stranger and homeless. If you’d had any kindness you wouldn’t have treated me so. I wanted to be fond of you.
Gertie.
You despised me before you ever saw me.
[Norah covers her eyes for a moment with both hands, and then forces herself to make another appeal.]
Norah.
Oh, Gertie, can’t we be friends? Can’t we let bygones be bygones and start afresh? We’re both fond of Eddie. He’s your husband and you love him, and he’s the only relation I have in the world. Won’t you let me be a real sister to you?
Gertie.
It’s rather late to say all that now.
Norah.
But it’s not too late, is it? I don’t know what I do that irritates you. I can see how competent you are, and I admire you so much. I know how splendid you’ve been with Eddie, and how you’ve stuck to him through thick and thin. You’ve done everything for him.
Gertie.
[Breaking in violently.] Oh, don’t go on patronising me. I shall go crazy.
Norah.
[Astounded.] Patronising you?
Gertie.
You talk to me as if I was a naughty child. You might be a school teacher.
Norah.
It seems perfectly hopeless.
Gertie.
Even when you’re begging my pardon you put on airs. You ask me to forgive you as if you was doing me a favour.
Norah.
[With a chuckle.] I must have a very unfortunate manner.
Gertie.
[Furiously.] Don’t laugh at me.
Norah.
Don’t make yourself ridiculous, then.
Gertie.
D’you think I shall ever forget what you wrote to Ed before I married him?
Norah.
[Looking at her quickly.] I don’t know what you mean.
Gertie.
Don’t you? You told him it would be a disgrace if he married me. He was a gentleman and I.... Oh, you spread yourself out.
Norah.
He oughtn’t to have shown you the letter.
Gertie.
He was dotty about me.
Norah.
I had a perfect right to try and prevent the marriage before it took place. But after it happened I only wanted to make the best of it. If you had a grudge against me why did you let me come here?
Gertie.
Ed wanted it, and it was lonely enough sometimes with the men away all day and no one to talk to. I thought you’d be company for me.... I can’t bear it when Ed talks to you about the Old Country and people I don’t know nothing about.
Norah.
[Surprised.] Are you jealous?
Gertie.
It’s my house and I’m mistress here. I won’t be put upon. What did you want to come here for, upsetting everybody? Till you come I never had a word with Ed. Oh, I hate you, I hate you.
Norah.
Gertie.
Gertie.
You’ve given me a chance and I’m going to take it. I’m going to take you down a peg or two.
Norah.
You’re doing all you can to drive me away from here.
Gertie.
You don’t think it’s much catch to have you. You talk of getting a job — you couldn’t get one. I know something about that, my girl. You! You can do nothing.... Here they are. Now take your medicine.
[Ed Marsh comes in, followed by Trotter and Frank Taylor. Frank has taken off his overalls.]
Gertie.
Where’s Reg?
Marsh.
He’s just coming.
Gertie.
Do they know what they’re here for?
Marsh.
No, I didn’t tell them.
[Hornby comes in.]
Gertie.
Norah insulted me a while ago before all of you, and I guess she wants to apologise.
Taylor.
If you told me it was that, Ed, you wanted me to come here for, I reckon I’d have told you to go to hell.
Norah.
Why?
Taylor.
I’ve got other things to do beside bothering my head about women’s quarrels.
Norah.
Oh, I beg your pardon, I thought it was some kindly feeling in you.
Gertie.
Go on, Norah, we’re waiting.
[Norah hesitates a moment and then takes her courage in both hands.]
Norah.
I’m sorry I was rude to you, Gertie. I apologise for what I said.
Taylor.
[With a quiet smile.] You didn’t find that very easy to say, I reckon.
Marsh.
There’s nothing more to be said, is there?
Gertie.
I’m quite satisfied.
Marsh.
We’d better get back to work, then.
[The men turn to go.]
Gertie.
Let this be a lesson to you, my girl.
[Norah starts at the words. It is the last straw.]
Norah.
Taylor.
[A little surprised.] Sure. What can I do for you?
Norah.
I’ve understood that I’m not wanted here. I’m in the way. You said just now you wanted a woman to cook and bake for you, wash and mend your clothes, and keep your shack clean and tidy. Will I do?
Taylor.
[Rather amused.] Sure.
Marsh.
[Horrified.] Norah.
Norah.
[With a twinkle in her eye.] I’m afraid you’ll have to marry me.
Taylor.
I guess it would be more respectable.
Marsh.
Norah, you can’t mean it. You’re in a temper. See here, Frank, you mustn’t pay any attention to her.
Gertie.
Shameless, that’s what I call it.
Norah.
Why? He wants a woman to look after him. He practically proposed to me half an hour ago. Didn’t you?
Taylor.
Practically.
Hornby.
I’m bound to say I’ve never heard a proposal refused so emphatically.
Marsh.
You’ve been like cat and dog with Frank ever since you came. My dear, you don’t know what you’re in for.
Norah.
If he’s willing to risk it, I am.
Taylor.
[Looking at her gravely.] It ain’t an easy life you’re coming to. This farm’s a palace compared with my shack.
Norah.
I’m not wanted here, and you say you want me. If you’ll take me, I’ll come.
Taylor.
I’ll take you all right. When will you be ready? Will an hour do for you?
Norah.
[Suddenly panic-stricken.] An hour?
Taylor.
Why, yes, then we can catch the three-thirty into Winnipeg. You can go to the Y.W.C.A. for the night and we’ll be buckled up in the morning.
Norah.
You’re in a great hurry.
Taylor.
I suppose you meant it? You weren’t just pulling a bluff?
[Norah hesitates for a moment and they look at one another.]
Norah.
I shall be ready in an hour.
END OF THE SECOND ACT
ACT III
Scene: Frank Taylor’s shack at Prentice, Manitoba. It is a low log cabin, consisting of two rooms. The scene is the living-room. There is a door at the back towards the left-hand side, and on the right is another door that leads into the bedroom. A very small low window at the back. There is a stove on the left, with a long chimney. On the walls, untidily tacked up, are pictures cut out of the illustrated papers. Hanging on a nail is a Cariboo coat. On a shelf beside the stove are the few pots and pans that Frank Taylor possesses. They are battered and much used. There is a broom in the corner. The furniture consists of a rocking-chair, worn with use and shabby, a table roughly made by Taylor himself from packing-cases, one kitchen chair and two or three packing-cases used as stools. On another shelf are maple-syrup tins, in which groceries are kept. In one corner there is an old suit-case, locally known as a grip, and a heap of old clothes; in another corner is a pile of tattered magazines and numbers of the Winnipeg Free Press. The shack has an untidy, comfortless, bedraggled air.