by Dan Laurence
ALASTAIR. Well, we must put up with them.
THE MANAGER. By the way, sir, I am sorry to trouble you; but you came up this morning without signing the register. I have brought it up. Would you be so good? [He fetches the register from the table and presents it to Alastair with his fountain pen].
ALASTAIR [sitting up and taking it on his knees] Oh, I am sorry: I forgot. [He signs]. There you are. [He puts up his legs again].
THE MANAGER. Thanks very much, sir. [He glances at the register before shutting it. The signature surprises him]. Oh, indeed, sir! We are honored.
ALASTAIR. Anything wrong?
THE MANAGER. Oh no, sir, nothing wrong: quite the contrary. Mr and Mrs Fitzfassenden. The name is so unusual. Have I the honor of entertaining the celebrated –
ALASTAIR [interrupting] Yes: it’s all right: I am the tennis champion and the boxing champion and all the rest of it; but I am here for a holiday and I dont want to hear anything more about it.
THE MANAGER [shutting the book] I quite understand, sir. I should not have said anything if it were not that the proprietress of this hotel, the lady I told you of, is a Mrs Fitzfassenden.
ALASTAIR [rising with a yell] What! Let me out of this. Pack up, Seedy. My bill, please, instantly.
THE MANAGER. Certainly, sir. But may I say that she is not on the premises at present and that I do not expect her this week-end.
PATRICIA. Dont fuss, darling. Weve a perfect right to be in her hotel if we pay our way just like anybody else.
ALASTAIR. Very well: have it your own way. But my week-end is spoilt.
THE MANAGER. Depend on it, she wont come, sir. She is getting tired of paying us unexpected visits now that she knows she can depend on me. [He goes out, but immediately looks in again to say] Your friend Mr Sagamore, sir, coming up with the invalid gentleman. [He holds the door open for Sagamore and Adrian, who come in. Then he goes out, taking the register with him].
Adrian, who comes first, limps badly on two walking sticks; and his head is bandaged. He is disagreeably surprised at seeing Fitzfassenden and Patricia.
ADRIAN. Alastair! Miss Smith! What does this mean, Sagamore? You never told me who you were bringing me to see: you said two friends. Alastair: I assure you I did not know you were here. Sagamore said some friends who would be glad to see me.
PATRICIA. Well, we are glad to see you, Mr Blenderbland. Wont you sit down?
ALASTAIR. But whats happened to you, old chap? What on earth have you done to yourself?
ADRIAN [exasperated] Everyone asks me what I have done to myself. I havnt done anything to myself. I suppose you mean this and this [he indicates his injuries]. Well, they are what your wife has done to me. That is why Sagamore should not have brought me here.
ALASTAIR. I say: I am frightfully sorry, old chap.
PATRICIA [rising solicitously] Do sit down, Mr Blenderbland. Rest yourself on that couch. [Arranging cushions] Dear! dear!
ALASTAIR. Eppy is like that, you know.
ADRIAN. Yes: I know now. But I ought not to be here: Sagamore should not have brought me here.
PATRICIA. But why not? I assure you we’re delighted to see you. We dont mind what Mrs Fitzfassenden does.
ADRIAN. But I do. You are most kind; but I cannot claim the privilege of a friend and at the same time be the plaintiff in an action for assault and battery.
ALASTAIR. Yes you can, old chap. The situation is not new. The victims always come to us for sympathy. Make yourself comfortable.
ADRIAN [reluctantly sitting down and disposing his damaged limbs along the couch] Well, it’s most kind of you; and I really cant stand any longer. But I dont understand why Sagamore should have played such a trick on me. And, of course, on you too.
Patricia returns to her chair, and resumes her knitting.
SAGAMORE [taking a chair next Patricia on her left] Well, the truth of the matter is that Blenderbland wont be reasonable; and I thought you two might help me to bring him to his senses.
ADRIAN [obstinately] It’s no use, Sagamore. Two thousand five hundred. And costs. Not a penny less.
SAGAMORE. Too much. Ridiculous. A jury might give five hundred if there was a clear disablement from earning, or if the defendant had done something really womanly, like throwing vitriol. But you are only a sleeping partner in the firm your father founded: you dont really earn your income. Besides, hang it all! a man accusing a woman of assault!
ALASTAIR. Why didnt you give her a punch in the solar plexus?
ADRIAN. Strike a woman! Impossible.
ALASTAIR. Rot! If a woman starts fighting she must take what she gets and deserves.
PATRICIA. Look at the marks she’s left on you, Mr Blenderbland! You shouldnt have put up with it: it only encourages her.
ALASTAIR. Search me for marks: you wont find any. Youd have found a big mark on her this first time she tried it on me. There was no second time.
ADRIAN. Unfortunately I have neither your muscle nor your knowledge of how to punch. But I will take lessons when I get well. And she shall pay for them. Two thousand five hundred. And medical expenses. And costs.
SAGAMORE. And cab fare to the Cottage Hospital, I suppose.
ADRIAN. No; I went in her own car. But now you remind me, I tipped the chauffeur. Now dont misunderstand me. It is not the money. But I wont be beaten by a woman. It’s a point of honor: of self-respect.
SAGAMORE. Yes; but how do you arrive at the figure? Why is your honor and self-respect worth two thousand five hundred pounds and not two thousand five hundred millions?
ADRIAN. My brother got two thousand five hundred from the railway company when an electric truck butted into him on the platform at Paddington. I will not let Epifania off with less. It was an unprovoked, brutal, cowardly assault.
SAGAMORE. Was it quite unprovoked? You will not get a jury to swallow that without a peck of salt!
ADRIAN. I have told you over and over again that it was absolutely unprovoked. But the concussion from which I suffered obliterated all consciousness of what happened immediately before the assault: the last thing I can recollect was a quiet ordinary conversation about her father’s money.
SAGAMORE. So much the worse for you. She can accuse you of anything she likes. And remember: no man can get damages out of a British jury unless he goes into court as a moral man.
ADRIAN. Do you suggest that I am not a moral man?
SAGAMORE. No; but Mrs Fitzfassenden’s counsel will if you take her into court.
ADRIAN. Stuff! Would any jury believe that she and I were lovers on the strength of a sprained ankle, a dislocated knee, and a lump on my head the size of an ostrich’s egg?
SAGAMORE. The best of evidence against you. It’s only lovers that have lovers’ quarrels. And suppose she pleads self-defence against a criminal assault!
ADRIAN. She dare not swear to such a lie.
SAGAMORE. How do you know it’s a lie? You dont know what happened at the end. You had concussion of the brain.
ADRIAN. Yes: after the assault.
SAGAMORE. But it obliterated your consciousness of what happened before the assault. How do you know what you did in those moments?
ADRIAN. Look here. Are you my solicitor or hers?
SAGAMORE. Fate seems to have made me the solicitor of everybody in this case. If I am forced to throw up either her case or yours, I must throw up yours. How can I afford to lose, a client with such an income and such a temper? Her tantrums are worth two or three thousand a year to any solicitor.
ADRIAN. Very well, Sagamore. You see my condition: you know that right and justice are on my side. I shall not forget this.
The manager enters, looking very serious.
THE MANAGER [to Alastair] I am extremely sorry, sir. Mrs Fitzfassenden is downstairs with the Egyptian doctor. I really did not expect her.
EPIFANIA [dashing into the room and addressing herself fiercely to the manager] You have allowed my husband to bring a woman to my hotel and register her in my name. You are fired.
[She is behind the couch and does not see Adrian. Sagamore rises].
THE MANAGER. I am sorry, madam: I did not know that the gentleman was your husband. However, you are always right. Do you wish me to go at once or to carry on until you have replaced me?
EPIFANIA. I do not wish you to go at all: you are reengaged. Throw them both out, instantly.
ALASTAIR. Ha ha ha!
SAGAMORE. Your manager cannot throw Alastair out: Alastair can throw all of us out, if it comes to that. As to Miss Smith, this is a licensed house; and she has as much right to be here as you or I.
EPIFANIA. I will set fire to the hotel if necessary. [She sees Adrian] Hallo! What is this? Adrian here too! What has happened to your head? What are those sticks for? [To the manager] Send the doctor here at once. [To Adrian] Have you hurt yourself?
The manager hurries out, glad to escape from the mêlée.
ADRIAN. Hurt myself! Hurt myself!!
EPIFANIA. Has he been run over?
ADRIAN. This woman has half killed me; and she asks have I hurt myself! I fell down the whole flight of stairs. My ankle was sprained. My knee was twisted. The small bone of my leg was broken. I ricked my spine. I had to give them a subscription at the Cottage Hospital, where your man took me. I had to go from there to a nursing home: twelve guineas a week. I had to call in three Harley Street surgeons; and none of them knew anything about dislocated knees: they wanted to cut my knee open to see what was the matter with it. I had to take it to a bonesetter; and he charged me fifty guineas.
EPIFANIA. Well, why did you not walk downstairs properly? Were you drunk?
ADRIAN [suffocating] I –
SAGAMORE [cutting in quickly] He declares that his injuries were inflicted by you when you last met, Mrs Fitzfassenden.
EPIFANIA. By me! Am I a prizefighter? Am I a coalheaver?
ADRIAN. Both.
SAGAMORE. Do you deny that you assaulted him?
EPIFANIA. Of course I deny it. Anything more monstrous I never heard. What happened was that he insulted my father grossly, without the slightest provocation, at a moment when I had every reason to expect the utmost tenderness from him. The blood rushed to my head: the next thing I remember is that I was lying across the table, trembling, dying. The doctor who found me can tell you what my condition was.
ADRIAN. I dont care what your condition was. What condition did your chauffeur find me in?
SAGAMORE. Then neither of you has the least notion of how this affair ended.
ADRIAN. I have medical evidence.
EPIFANIA. So have I.
ADRIAN. Well, we shall see. I am not going to be talked out of my case.
EPIFANIA. What do you mean by your case?
SAGAMORE. He is taking an action against you.
EPIFANIA. An action! very well: you know my invariable rule. Fight him to the last ditch, no matter what it costs. Take him to the House of Lords if necessary. We shall see whose purse will hold out longest. I will not be blackmailed.
ADRIAN. You think your father’s money places you above the law?
EPIFANIA [flushing] Again!
She makes for him. Alastair seizes her from behind and whirls her away towards Sagamore; then places himself on guard between her and the couch, balancing his fist warningly.
ALASTAIR. Now! now! now! None of that. Toko, my girl, toko.
SAGAMORE. Toko! What is toko?
ALASTAIR. She knows. Toko is an infallible medicine for calming the nerves. A punch in the solar plexus and a day in bed: thats toko.
EPIFANIA. You are my witness, Mr Sagamore, how I go in fear of my husband’s brutal violence. He is stronger than I am: he can batter me, torture me, kill me. It is the last argument of the lower nature against the higher. My innocence is helpless. Do your worst. [She sits down in Sagamore’s chair with great dignity].
ALASTAIR. Quite safe now, ladies and gentlemen. [He picks up his illustrated paper, and retires with it to one of the remoter tea-tables, where he sits down to read as quietly as may be].
ADRIAN [to Epifania] Now you know what I felt. It serves you right.
EPIFANIA. Yes: go on. Insult me. Threaten me. Blackmail me. You can all do it with impunity now.
SAGAMORE [behind her chair] Dont take it that way, Mrs Fitzfassenden. There is no question of blackmailing or insulting you. I only want to settle this business of Mr Blenderbland’s injuries before we go into the matrimonial question.
EPIFANIA. I want to hear no more of Mr Blenderbland and his ridiculous injuries.
SAGAMORE. Do be a little reasonable, Mrs Fitzfassenden. How are we to discuss the compensation due to Mr Blenderbland without mentioning his injuries?
EPIFANIA. There is no compensation due to Mr Blenderbland. He deserved what he got, whatever that was.
SAGAMORE. But he will take an action against you.
EPIFANIA. Take one against him first.
SAGAMORE. What for?
EPIFANIA. For anything; only dont bother me about it. Claim twenty thousand pounds damages. I tell you I will not be blackmailed.
ADRIAN. Neither will I. I am entitled to compensation and I mean to have it.
SAGAMORE [coming between them] Steady! steady! please. I cannot advise either of you to go to law; but quite seriously, Mrs Fitzfassenden, Mr Blenderbland is entitled to some compensation. You can afford it.
EPIFANIA. Mr Sagamore: a woman as rich as I am cannot afford anything. I have to fight to keep every penny I possess. Every beggar, every blackmailer, every swindler, every charity, every testimonial, every political cause, every league and brotherhood and sisterhood, every church and chapel, every institution of every kind on earth is busy from morning to night trying to bleed me to death. If I weaken for a moment, if I let a farthing go, I shall be destitute by the end of the month. I subscribe a guinea a year to the Income Tax Payers’ Defence League; but that is all: absolutely all. My standing instructions to you are to defend every action and to forestall every claim for damages by a counterclaim for ten times the amount. That is the only way in which I can write across the sky ‘Hands off My Money.’
SAGAMORE. You see, Mr Blenderbland, it’s no use. You must withdraw your threat of an action.
ADRIAN. I wont.
SAGAMORE. You will. You must. Mrs Fitzfassenden: he can do nothing against you. Let me make an appeal on his behalf ad misericordiam.
EPIFANIA [impatiently] Oh, we are wasting time; and I have more important business to settle. Give him a ten pound note and have done with it.
ADRIAN. A ten pound note!!!
SAGAMORE [remonstrant] Oh, Mrs Fitzfassenden!
EPIFANIA. Yes: a ten pound note. No man can refuse a ten pound note if you crackle it under his nose.
SAGAMORE. But he wants two thousand five hundred.
EPIFANIA [rising stupefied] Two thou – [She gasps].
ADRIAN. Not a penny less.
EPIFANIA [going past Sagamore to the couch] Adrian, my child, I have underrated you. Your cheek, your gluttony, your obstinacy impose respect on me. I threw a half baked gentleman downstairs: and my chauffeur picked him up on the mat a magnificently complete Skunk.
ADRIAN [furious] Five thousand for that, Sagamore, do you hear?
SAGAMORE. Please! please! Do keep your temper.
ADRIAN. Keep your own temper. Has she lamed you for life? Has she raised a bump on your head? Has she called you a skunk?
SAGAMORE. No; but she may at any moment.
EPIFANIA [flinging her arms round him with a whoop of delight] Ha ha! Ha ha! My Sagamore! My treasure! Shall I give him five thousand on condition that he turns it into a million in six months?
ADRIAN. I will do what I like with it. I will have it unconditionally.
SAGAMORE [extricating himself gently from Epifania’s hug] Mr Blenderbland: it is a mistake to go into court in the character of a man who has been called a skunk. It makes the jury see you in that light from the start. It is also very difficult for a plaintiff to get sympathy in the character of a man who has been
thrashed by a woman. If Mrs Fitzfassenden had stabbed you, or shot you, or poisoned you, that would have been quite in order: your dignity would not have been compromised. But Mrs Fitzfassenden knows better. She knows the privileges of her sex to a hair’s breadth and never oversteps them. She would come into court beautifully dressed and looking her best. No woman can be more ladylike – more feminine – when it is her cue to play the perfect lady. Long before we can get the case into the lists the bump on your head will have subsided; your broken bone will have set; and the color will have come back to your cheeks. Unless you can provoke Mrs Fitzfassenden to assault you again the day before the trial – and she is far too clever for that – the chances are a million to one against you.
