Complete Works of J. M. Barrie

by Unknown

  GAVIN. Struck her?

  NANNY. He’s taking her to Rintoul.

  GAVIN. To Rintoul! Nanny, they will fling her into jail!

  NANNY. That’s what he wants — so as to keep her frae coming near you.

  GAVIN. In the wood, you say! (Is rushing off.)

  NANNY. Come BACK! Your PRAYER MEETING!

  (BABBIE screams again. GAVIN hesitates, then rushes off. The bell rings violently as if to recall him to his duties, NANNY is in despair.)

  What will they say to this?

  (Is going towards gate, turns and hastily exits. The bell rings a little longer, then stops, WHAMOND and SNECKY enter at gate.)

  WHAMOND (looking at window). His light’s OUT. He canna be in THE Manse. (Crosses to Manse door and rings bell furiously.)

  SNECKY. It’s extraordinary — ay, it’s strange.

  (Enter ANDREW and SILVA through gate.)

  Andrew. What can have become o’ the Minister?

  WHAMOND. He’s no in the Manse.

  SILVA. I never kent the like occur afore.

  WHAMOND (savagely). And you’ll never ken it occur again!

  (Exit into Manse.)

  ANDREW. Tammas is looking awful black and dour.

  SNECKY. He is, ay, he is.

  (Light in Manse goes up.)

  ANDREW. He needna be, for the one thing we ‘re sure o’ is that nothing but duty o’ the highest kind would keep Mr. Dishart frae the prayer meeting.

  (Light in Manse goes out.)

  SNECKY. Oh, losh, ay, oh yes, we have the completest confidence in him — but it’s suspicious.

  ANDREW. You may say so.

  (They are waggling their heads solemnly when WHAMOND returns with a sheet of paper in his hand.)

  WHAMOND. He’s gone.

  SNECKY. Tal, sal, dal, it cows! What’s that in your hand, Tammas?

  WHAMOND. It’S WHAT HE WAS WRITING UP TO THE LAST MINUTE, I’M THINKING, FOR THE INK’S JIMPLY DRY.

  ANDREW. It’ll be his Sabbath sermon. What’s his text, Tammas?

  WHAMOND.! CANNA SEE.

  SILVA. Here’S a lantern. (Holds up BABBIE’S lantern to let WHAMOND read.)

  SNECKY. What’s the text, Tammas?

  (All listen greedily.)

  WHAMOND (surprised). It’s headed, ‘Her Boy Am I.’ snecky. ‘Her Boy Am I’! I canna mind o’ that text.

  ANDREW. I think it’s in Ephesians.

  SNECKY. How does he treat it, Tammas?

  WHAMOND (solemnly reading) —

  ‘I would I were the favoured wind That fans her cheek so fair, Oh, let me be a thread to bind The glories of her hair.’ (He stops grimly. He understands, but the others look puzzled.)

  SILVA (to snecky). Snecky, what think you?

  SNECKY (puzzled). Oh, man, man, it’s really — ay, it’s nobly said, oh, ay, ay! (Solemnly.)

  ANDREW. But what does it mean?

  SNECKY. He doesna ken what it means, Tammas!

  WHAMOND. Do you?

  SNECKY. I didna exactly see the meaning o’t myself, but, oh, ay, ay! Ooo! Oo!

  WHAMOND. Maybe this is plainer —

  ‘Oh, ask me not to count the cost, My Babbie’s arms to fly. The man who hesitates is lost, And so, Her Boy Am I.’ snecky (heavily, after a pause). Oh, lads, lads, that’s the true religion.

  ANDREW. Tammas, does every line begin with a capital letter?

  WHAMOND. It does.

  ANDREW. Then in my opinion it has nothing to do wi’ sermons. It’s poetry.

  SNECKY. Dinna SAY that, Andrew.

  ANDREW. Also, in my opinion, it’s about a woman I snecky. Keeps a’!

  ANDREW. I’ maun be the lady that gae him the rose!

  SILVA. So it will. She maun be a terrible fine woman that would make a minister use sic language. Tammas, you ‘re looking dour.

  WHAMOND (sternly and sadly). And well I may, for I have a woeful duty to perform.

  (All grow serious.)

  Friends, Mr. Dishart is not the noble youth we thought him.

  SILVA (fiercely). Have a care what you ‘re saying.

  WHAMOND. The fine lady you ‘re all so curious about, I ken wha she is. I saw her gie him the rose, I saw him philandering wi’ her in the wood, I ken o’ secret meetings they’ve had since then. I ken wha has bewitched him, and I’ve warned him, but he’s hers, body and soul — she’s the Egyptian!

  (Sensation.)

  SNECKY. (“None of that.

  ANDREW J Ca’ canny.

  SILVA.! Can you prove this? (Fiercely shakes lantern in WHAMOND’S face.)

  WHAMOND. I wish I couldna. (Pointing at lantern)

  Whaur did you get this? It’s no the Manse lantern.

  SILVA. I found it here. That shawl was round it. (Points to shawl on ground.)

  WHAMOND (poking up shawl from above well). A gipsy shawl! (Drops it again.)

  SNECKY. You dinna say —

  WHAMOND. Yes, I say it. We ken now wha the Minister is awa’ wi’.

  (Their heads are bowed in grief, WHAMOND speaks quietly.)

  Silva, go back to the kirk.

  SILVA. Tammas, it’s your duty to tell them — you ‘re chief elder. I was fond of the young man — and I canna.

  WHAMOND (with quiet force). God give me strength to do my duty, for I love the lad even as my own son. Go back to the kirk, Will’um, and you maun keep the prayer meeting in his place. Tell them nothing till I come, and then if they have to be told — I’ll tell them.

  (silva goes slowly, puts lantern down above well, and goes through gate.)

  You away and look for him. Take the Prosen Road. When you find him, bring him here to me.

  (andrew exits.)

  WHAMOND (to SNECKY). Lock that door.

  (SNECKY, wondering, locks Manse door.)

  Bring the key to me.

  (snecky gives him the key and sits on seat.)

  Gavin Dishart, if you canna account for this night’s work, never again shall you preach in that kirk, never again shall you enter that Manse door!

  SNECKY (heavily). It’s hard on him — and it’s hard on us all — but ‘Her Boy Am I’! That settles him.

  (WHAMOND stands implacable.)

  ACT III

  Rintoul Castle. An ancient hall in an old Scottish baronial house. Except for softer chairs, etc., this chamber is much as it was in the days when Jacobites lived at Rintoul. Many of the old adornments still left, the whole suggesting poverty as well as pride of ancestry. An austere room with the colour mostly gone out of it. The time is an hour after that of Act II.

  SCENE II.

  (THWAITES, an elderly butler (English), is discovered lighting a lamp; lifts lamp on table. He places it on table above fireplace. To him comes down the stair the French maid, FELICE. She speaks broken English.)

  FELICE (on staircase, excited, but cautious). Mr. Thwaites! Mr. Thwaites! What shall I do? (At foot of stairs.) His lordship, he say to me, where is Lady Barbara? I say, she is in her room. (Looking at door.) He say, let her know that Captain Halliwell is here. I say I go, and I come, but all the time I know that Lady Barbara is nowhere.

  THWAITES (a stolid man). Is she not in her room?

  FELICE. Non! Nor is she anywhere in the house. She have gone — vanished away — for hours —

  THWAITES. It’s queer.

  FELICE. It is the deuce.

  THWAITES. I have heard talk of some secret passage out of the castle that was used, they say, in Jacobite days. But I never found it.

  FELICE. Perhaps she — found it?

  THWAITES. The door is handier.

  FELICE. Ah, you think so! But I say to myself there may be ways! It all depend if she have a lover — then there is always ways?

  (From some distance, song begins to be played on the bagpipes THWAITES and FELICE chuckle and smile to each other.)

  That song — again!

  (She catches THWAITES’ right arm and they dance round once.)

  THWAITES. Halliwell’s own men play it to badger him! Wel
l, unlucky in war, it’s said, lucky in love.

  (Music dies away.)

  FELICE. Love! No, no. She does not love Dick Halliwell. She never jumps at mention of his name.

  THWAITES. Jumps?

  FELICE. Mais oui. It is the proof. You say to me ‘ William’ — I do not jump. You say to me — what is your name?

  THWAITES. Samuel.

  FELICE. You say to me ‘Samuel’ — I do not jump. But there is the name François. (Clasps her hands.) It is long ago — he is in France — France! And I am here among savages — he is married with much children and he is grown very fat — but still at his name I jump — not very much now — but a little jump to the sweet memory of love. (She says ‘ François’ sweetly to herself and gives a little jump.) Voilà!

  (She goes off. Bagpipes off commence again, THWAITES exits smiling. Presently the panel picture is cautiously slid hack and we see BABBIE peering out of the blackness behind, a lighted candle in her hand. The picture is not a big one. She can just get through. She is in the gipsy dress and is pale and very frightened. After closing panel she steals down and blows out light and puts candlestick on table. Seeing that there is no one about she goes to door, when she realises that there is someone in the room. In desperation she quickly lies down on couch, pulls rugs over her to conceal costume, and pretends to be asleep. At that point music has died away, FELICE comes out, suddenly sees her and gives a little squeal of surprise, then stands looking at BABBIE with an expressive face. BABBIE, affecting sleep, yawns and moves on couch, which unfortunately exposes some of gipsy dress, at which FELICE stares, BABBIE sees dress and hurriedly conceals it, but this exposes her bare foot. She takes a peep at FELICE and pretends to sleep again, not knowing what else to do.

  FELICE goes up stage and takes chair above writing-table and sits at head of couch.)

  BABBIE (assuming surprise). Is that you, Felice?

  FELICE. Not if my lady does not wish it.

  BABBIE. What are you doing? (Looking away from her.)

  FELICE. I thought, my lady, you might wish to dress — unless you are already dressed.

  BABBIE (flinging up the sponge).! THINK! SHALL RAISE YOUR wages, Felice.

  FELICE. You are very good, my lady. (Curious) I did not see you enter.

  BABBIE. Didn’t you? (Shuddering) Felice, I have had such a dreadful adventure. A man —

  FELICE (delighted and with interest). A man, my lady?

  BABBIE. I have just escaped from the clutches of a wild, ferocious man who was dragging me here — (Holding rug up to neck.)

  FELICE. Here! To your own home?

  BABBIE (very seriously frightened). He did not know that! He has nearly broken my arm. (In trouble about gavin.) But there is worse than that — thoughtless fool that I have been.

  THWAITES (off). What name, sir?

  GAVIN (off). Mr. Dishart.

  (BABBIE, hearing this, hurries off. FELICE moves chair back to table. Enter THWAITES, followed by GAVIN.)

  THWAITES. I will tell his lordship you are here, sir.

  (THWAITES goes up the stairs, GAVIN puts hat on chair in entrance and coming forward sees FELICE, who is pretending to be occupied and is wondering whether this newcomer is connected with the escapade.)

  GAVIN (as soon as THWAITES has disappeared). Girl — quick, tell me — the gipsy — is she here?

  FELICE (in a quiver). But what gipsy, sir?

  GAVIN. She is not! (Relieved, he sits on couch.)

  FELICE. Some of the gipsies around here I know. There is Black Annie.

  (He turns away.)

  Mysy, Babbie —— — (Sympathetic) Oh, sir —

  (She hesitates. Then gleefully points at door, and GAVIN is going excited to it when THWAITES reappears on stair.)

  THWAITES (at foot of stairs). His lordship will see you, sir, in a few minutes. (He goes off.)

  GAVIN. She is there? (FELICE nods sympathetically. He hesitates.) Please go away. (She reluctantly goes toward entrance. Turns to her) Why did you tell me?

  FELICE. You jump! (Clasps hands, sighs, and — disappears by entrance.)

  (GAVIN boldly opens door.)

  GAVIN. Babbie! (Backs from door.)

  (BABBIE comes out in trouble to foot of couch.)

  BABBIE (miserably ashamed of herself). Oh, why DID YOU come here?

  GAVIN (manfully). To save you, Babbie, have no fear. I heard what Rob Dow had done, and I followed. Courage, I am by your side. I will compel them to set you free.

  BABBIE (who can’t help being amused, but touched). Oh, the dear man you are.

  GAVIN (quickly). Am I, Babbie, am I — to you?

  BABBIE. Perhaps. But you are a minister — and I — (She is in abject distress.) The very birds on the moors would laugh at it. If you could only laugh at it, too, my dear! (Imploringly.)

  GAVIN. All I know is that you said ‘my dear.’ babbie. I shouldn’t have said it — I don’t even know that I meant it. Naughty things leap out of me, Mr. Dishart — and I can’t overtake them. I wish I could. (Turns to him.)

  GAVIN (going to her). I will overtake them for you.

  BABBIE (smiling sweetly). I should keep you running about all your life.

  GAVIN (laughing). It is what I have been doing this last week and more.

  BABBIE (laughing, impulsively). It was fun, wasn’t it?

  (Stops laughing, remorseful) There! That is another one! I am bitterly ashamed. I never thought until that boy — and then the man! I never dreamt that I was placing you in danger. If you could say that you forgive me — the gipsy girl. I wasn’t a woman on that mad moonlight night when I came dancing into your life. I was just a wild thing too full of glee. You don’t blame the birds when they are made giddy by their own song. Please, please, let it be so with me. (Clasps her hands.)

  GAVIN. Forgive you! What have I to forgive you — for bringing me the great glory of my life? Your song! Babbie, your song has come to me for evermore!

  BABBIE (weakly). Has it? No, it hasn’t, it mustn’t!

  (Tremulous) It is only a fancy of the moment, dear Gavin Dishart, it will quickly pass away.

  GAVIN. Never while life endures. Babbie, if you could care for me —

  BABBIE. I do — for the MOMENT.

  (GAVIN steps back.)

  (With self-abnegation) I have never done anything all my days except for the moment. How can I tell that I would be different in this?

  GAVIN. Leave all to me.

  BABBIE (reflecting). How lightly men ask women to leave all to them!

  GAVIN. As MY wife —

  BABBIE (sitting in armchair above fire, weakly). It is a nice word.

  GAVIN. Babbie — (Moves close to chair.)

  BABBIE. Let me look at you. (Takes his arm.) You dear foolish little minister! Would you really dare to marry a gipsy girl?

  GAVIN (grandly). Dare!

  BABBIE. Your congregation — those fierce men!

  GAVIN. When I marry it will be to please myself. If they object I — I will knock them about as with a flail, even Thomas Whamond.

  BABBIE. I love to listen to you.

  GAVIN. And when they know you better they will see you with my eyes.

  BABBIE. Or you would see me with theirs!

  GAVIN. Cast aside fear, dear heart. Strange though it might be to you at first to be a minister’s wife —

  BABBIE. SO much stranger than you think! (Looking at fire: she can’t prevent her shoulders heaving with laughter, then sobers, looking at him) Can you really think of me as mistress of a manse?

  GAVIN. I can think of you as nothing else. (Gleefully bending over her) Why should you be afraid, with me to love you and sustain you?

  BABBIE. It sounds so pretty till one begins to think!

  (Quaintly longing, looking straight in front) Tell me how you would love me and sustain me.

  GAVIN (eagerly). No doubt, after what you have been accustomed to, the Manse will seem a very large house to you at first, but you will soon get used to it.