Complete Works of J. M. Barrie
Page 277
LADY JANET (SUSPICIOUSLY). Well, why don’t you go, Meikle?
MEIKLE (SUDDENLY FACING HER WITH EMOTION). My lady, I am an auld servant, I have served in this house faithfully since Miss Margaret was that high; and her ways, they were so bonny — she’s so innocent like — she has said things to me so innocent that, being a grey-haired man, acquainted full sore with wickedness of the world, I have just hurried out of the room and said ‘God bless her,’ behind the door.
LADY JANET (GRAVELY). A loyal servant has his privileges, Meikle. What is it you want to know?
MEIKLE. My young mistress that was married yesterday has come back here without her man. (CLENCHING HIS FIST AND SPEAKING WITH STRONG FEELING) I am but an auld servant, but I want to know where Mr. Digby is?
(After slight pause enter PAUL lady janet conceals her surprise at seeing him MEIKLE’s expression changes to joy.)
Oh, sir, but I am glad to see you! My lady, you will pardon me, I was a doited old fool!
(Lifts tray, but leaves cigarbox, and exit, looking very happy, PAUL looks at LADY JANET inquiringly.)
LADY JANET. He was afraid until you came, that something was wrong. Why have you followed us?
PAUL (DREARILY). What else was there for me to do? (PAUSE.)
She came with me.
LADY JANET. Mrs. Ommaney? Where is she?
PAUL. We were told Margaret had gone to her room. She has followed her to tell how it all happened — and to give her back the ring.
LADY JANET (SHAKING HER HEAD). It will not be done so easily as that.
PAUL. But how, Lady Janet? Is there any way? I am prepared to do anything.
LADY JANET (SUDDENLY). Mr. Digby, are you sorry you confessed?
PAUL. No — no.
LADY JANET. Nor am I — for I need despise you no more.
(STANDING LOOKING AT HIM WISTFULLY) I believe he was just such a man as you — some one I used to know, and thought the world of thirty weary years ago. Oh, you men, you men! Why does not God speak and make the way clear for women, (PAUL BOWS HIS HEAD.) If you had told Margaret before!
PAUL. I wanted to do it; the more I loved her, the more I hungered to have her know me as I am; but the words would not come — she was so innocent.
LADY JANET. You did not even tell her father. (NO ANSWER.) Did you? (NO ANSWER.) Are you keeping something from me? (NO ANSWER.) Oh, how you men stick by each other!
(ENTER MR. FAIRBAIRN LOOKING VERY BROKEN AND IN GREAT DISTRESS ABOUT MARGARET. HE IS ENTIRELY SINCERE IN THE VIEWS TO WHICH HE GIVES EXPRESSION.)
MR. FAIRBAIRN (LOOKING AT PAUL FIERCELY). You — villain! My poor child! Oh, the horror of it! Oh, the awfulness!
(ANXIOUSLY) Do the servants know?
LADY JANET. Not yet.
MR. FAIRBAIRN (WEAKLY). That’s something.
LADY JANET (SHARPLY). Alec, how much of this did you know before the wedding?
MR. FAIRBAIRN. Not a word.
LADY JANET (to PAUL). What have you to say to that?
PAUL. Nothing. (He looks a little scornfully at MR. FAIRBAIRN, who winces.)
LADY JANET (NOTING THIS BY-PLAY). He is shielding you, Alec, and you don’t deserve it. What was it? (SUDDENLY) I can guess — he offered to tell you, and you would not listen!
MR. FAIRBAIRN. I knew there had been something; but he gave me his word of honour that it was all past and done with — so I declined to hear more.
LADY JANET. Oh, Alec! (She rises and moves about sadly — he walks by her side speaking.)
MR. FAIRBAIRN. My rule, Janet — look on the bright side, you know. Let sleeping dogs lie. I dislike painful subjects — my sensitive nature — I —
LADY JANET. Poor Alec!
MR. fairbairn (LEAVING LADY JANET). Why is the woman with Margaret?
(ENTER MRS. OMMANEY, SHE STOPS UNSEEN BY PAUL AND MR. FAIRBAIRN.)
PAUL. ‘The woman’ is my one hope now. If Margaret ever looks at me again it will be by the help of ‘the woman.’ You don’t know her, Mr. Fairbairn, nor of what generosity she is capable.
MR. FAIRBAIRN. No, Mr. Digby, I don’t know that kind of woman. I never knew them. I have always avoided them like the plague. And I wonder, sir, which of us will face his Maker the less fearfully for that?
MRS. OMMANEY (TAKING A STEP FORWARD AND SURPRISING THEM). He who has brought one of them to this pass, or you who have avoided them all like the plague — I wonder!
PAUL (EAGERLY — GOING TO HER). Have you anything to tell me?
MRS. OMMANEY. She flung the ring upon the floor.
(He is overcome.)
LADY JANET. Oh! (She goes out.)
MRS. OMMANEY. But she is coming down.
MR. FAIRBAIRN (snatching at this straw). That’s something!
PAUL. Is there any hope for me?
MRS. OMMANEY. I believe she has something to propose. I don’t know what it is.
(Enter MARGARET. PAUL goes to her, but she draws back in repugnance.)
MARGARET (lifting a handful of rice which is in a bowl on centre table and letting it run through her fingers back into bowl). Rice!
MR. FAIRBAIRN. We gathered it off the floor and put it in that bowl for luck.
MARGARET. Luçk!
PAUL. Margaret, whatever you ask me to do, I will do it.
MARGARET. What am I to do, father? I have longed for your advice, there is no one so wise as you. Do you see any bright side now?
MR. FAIRBAIRN (GOING TO HER). Margaret — the servants don’t know.
MARGARET (surprised and pained). Oh, father!
MR. FAIRBAIRN. But it is a great thing, my child. And though Mr. Digby was led astray —
PAUL (sternly). No.
MR. FAIRBAIRN (FROWNING AT HIM). He is very repentant, and a wife’s duty, Margaret, her privilege — to forgive. Forgiveness! What a beautiful word it is, and woman is so forgiving that — that —
MARGARET. That men may count on it!
(MR. FAIRBAIRN IS SILENCED FOR A MOMENT.)
MR. FAIRBAIRN. And of course we must not forget this lady — a competence — quite a large sum —
(PAUL stamps his foot.)
Oh, I insist on facing the situation unflinchingly. Now I happen to know a farmer — a widower — who is in need of a housekeeper —
PAUL. Mr. Fairbairn! (Lifts his arm to beg MR. FAIRBAIRN to stop.)
MRS. OMMANEY. Let him go on. Leave me, please, with this gentleman.
(EXIT PAUL.) I think I know what is coming, Mr. Fairbairn. Your farmer lives in Australia, doesn’t he?
MR. FAIRBAIRN. How did you know?
MRS. OMMANEY. Oh, I have read them also.
MR. FAIRBAIRN (PUZZLED). Read them? Read what? I know the man — a splendid climate.
MRS. OMMANEY. Where I should be out of your way.
MR. FAIRBAIRN. Exac — (Stops sharply.)
MRS. OMMANEY. And I could begin a new life there.
MR. FAIRBAIRN (ENTHUSIASTICALLY). A new life in a new country!
MRS. OMMANEY. With a baby!
MR. FAIRBAIRN. We would not take your child from you.
(NOBLY) No.
MARGARET. Father! Father! (Buries her head in her hands.)
MRS. OMMANEY. Let him go on. You were to say, I think, that I could write to them once a year?
MR. FAIRBAIRN. At Christmas time.
MRS. OMMANEY. Saying what a beautiful peace had come into my life, and baby is such a comfort, and that sweet-smelling flowers are growing up the porch of my rustic home!
MR. FAIRBAIRN (DELIGHTED). Yes, yes!
MRS. OMMANEY. Honeysuckle?
MR. FAIRBAIRN. Anything you like.
MRS. OMMANEY. I should prefer honeysuckle. It is usually honeysuckle. Do let it be honeysuckle.
MR. FAIRBAIRN. A strange woman, but she will do it.
(AFFECTIONATELY) So you see I have found the bright side, and soon, Margaret, this painful episode will be as if it had never been.
(HE IS ELATED AND HONESTLY BELIEVES THAT HE HAS FOUND THE WAY OUT.)
MR. FAIRBAIRN (PUZZLED). Yes. (BRIGHTENING) We must have the courage to turn our backs on it.
MARGARET (RISING). Father, don’t say another word, lest I learn to despise you.
MR. FAIRBAIRN (ASTOUNDED). Margaret — you forget yourself.
MARGARET. Father — it is a thing you never do.
MR. FAIRBAIRN. This from my child! Whom I brought up so innocently.
MARGARET. So innocently! But you don’t deserve even the credit for that, father. It was easier to keep me a child than to make a woman of me. That is all you did. What I thought your fine philosophy, it was only an avoidance of disagreeable truths. Do you think — but you don’t think, you have shirked the trouble of thinking for so long that now, when you must, you can’t. And I am in the same plight. I am your true daughter, father! (SITS SOBBING.)
MR. FAIRBAIRN (WITH SYMPATHY, BUT FEEBLY). Don’t cry, dear — don’t — it pains me — I am so sensitive — Margaret, bear up — the darkest clouds have a silver — try to put a bright face —
(He does not complete these phrases, having an uncomfortable feeling that there is something wrong with them to-day.) For my sake, Margaret — my heart — the doctor said — my heart, you know — weak! (Pettishly — sitting) Very well, don’t think of me — blame me — go on — blame me.
MARGARET (GOING TO HIM). Father, if we could help one another!
MR. FAIRBAIRN (BRIGHTENING). We shall — we shall! I may have been to blame — I was — yes, I insist on saying it, I was — but henceforth — (GRANDLY) — Margaret — you will see a change.
(SHE PRESSES HIS HAND GRATEFULLY.)
MRS. OMMANEY. I forgot one thing. Do I marry the farmer?
MR. FAIRBAIRN (VERY PLEASED WITH HIMSELF). Ah, madam, you jest, but you see before you a changed man. Margaret, if you know of any way out, let me hear it.
MRS. OMMANEY. Yes, let us hear it. (SITS INDIFFERENTLY.)
MARGARET (RINGING BELL). I have something to propose, father. The world will scoff, but — I am trying to do what is right.
MR. FAIRBAIRN (CONTEMPTUOUSLY). The world! My child, you shall never hear me use a worldly argument again.
(Enter MEIKLE. MR. FAIRBAIRN’S manner changes suddenly and he tries to look as if all was well with the world, MARGARET looks at him pained, but he does not see her.)
MARGARET. Meikle, see if you can find Mr. Digby.
MR. FAIRBAIRN (JOVIALLY). These young married people, Meikle! Can’t do without each other for a moment, ha!
ha! ha!
(Exit MEIKLE also smiling. MR. FAIRBAIRN sees MARGARET’S reproachful look and winces.)
It was to deceive the servants.
MARGARET (SADLY). And you promised —
MR. FAIRBAIRN (DEJECTEDLY). I forgot!
(ENTER PAUL.)
PAUL. You sent for me.
MARGARET. To hear the only condition on which I will consent to return to you.
(He bows.)
It is that we — you and I — take the child.
MRS. OMMANEY (starting up). What! (She now listens quietly but sharply.)
MR. FAIRBAIRN. Eh — ah — adopt it?
MARGARET. Does a man adopt his own child, Mr. Digby?
MR. FAIRBAIRN. No, no — course — why say adopt? Why use the word? The only difficulty — and it can be got round — yes, yes — is whose child shall we say it is?
MARGARET (TO PAUL). Whose?
PAUL. You mean — we are to tell the truth?
(SHE INCLINES HER HEAD.)
MR. FAIRBAIRN. Tell the truth! Shamed, shamed!
MARGARET. Father, your promise! The truth must be right.
MR. FAIRBAIRN (FEEBLY). The truth — I suppose so.
(VEHEMENTLY) Margaret, why can’t you let sleeping dogs —
(HOPELESS, GOING DOWNCAST.) I am not a man — you were right — I am only a thing swaddled in comfortable phrases.
(Some real horror of himself has awakened in him and his is a pitiful figure.)
MARGARET. Father, there is a man beneath them still.
MR. FAIRBAIRN. Is there? Is there?
MRS. OMMANEY. I give up.
(He seeks to escape from this new world in which he, who has always been so pleased with himself, cuts so poor a figure.)
MR FAIRBAIRN (with dignity). You have killed me between you. (Is going off with dignity, turns, hesitates, toddles back to table, and lifts cigarbox — feebly) My heart, you know — weak.
(Exit with cigarbox apologetically.)
MARGARET (TO PAUL). Do you share his views?
PAUL (PASSIONATELY). Margaret, it is yourself you are punishing.
MARGARET. I will face facts.
PAUL. I have no option — I agree — if you are willing.
(TO MRS. OMMANEY.)
MRS. OMMANEY. Oh, don’t think of me!
MARGARET. But it is for you that we do it. So that you may be able to go back to your father. You said he did not know of the child, he need never know now.
PAUL. Ah, Margaret, you see there must be deception somewhere.
MARGARET. Then let him be the one to profit by it. In making her father happy she will become happy herself, and the bright side of things will — (SHUDDERING) Ah, that phrase!
MRS. OMMANEY. It is a fairy tale!
MARGARET. Your father —
MRS OMMANEY (indifferently). My father! (Rapturously)
My child!
MARGARET. But the shame —
MRS. OMMANEY. The glory! She is mine.
MARGARET. I would teach her to love your memory as —
MRS. OMMANEY. I want her to love myself! Such as she may love one of her parents, she must scorn the other. If one of them is to be scorned, let it be her father; if one of them is to be loved, it shall be her mother!
(MARGARET SITS SADLY. MRS. OMMANEY GOES NEARER HER.)
Oh, you baby, trying to do what is right! Your father is a selfish old man, you are a generous girl, but you tell the same fairy tale. You have brought the honeysuckle from Australia and planted it at my father’s door. That is all the difference!
MARGARET (IN DISTRESS). I am my father’s daughter!
(ENTER LADY JANET.)
LADY JANET. Well?
MRS. OMMANEY. They thought they could have my child.
MARGARET. Auntie, what are we to do?
MRS. OMMANEY (SPEAKING AS IF THIS WAS HER ULTIMATUM). Do as you will. I have done enough for you — you boy and girl making so much ado about your love! I, too, was heroic, but the mood has passed. I am going back to my father, but my child goes with me.
(Stroll up and out on balcony, where she stands with her back to them.)
MARGARET (going after her — passionately). Mrs. Ommaney —
LADY JANET (CHECKING HER). Would you rob her of her last chance?
MARGARET (SITTING, BITTERLY). I suppose that is what I have been trying to do — looking for a bright side for myself!
PAUL (GOING TO HER). No, Margaret, you have only been a woman trying to do what was beyond her strength — perhaps overlooking to do what is within her. I have no right to say that, but —
LADY JANET. Yes, Margaret Digby, there is something for you to do. You can do your duty by your stricken husband. See how beautiful the world is. (POINTING TO SKY WHICH IS NOW SERENE WITH STARS) You can go out hand in hand, and thank God for it.
MARGARET (BITTERLY). Forget and forgive!
LADY JANET (SOLEMNLY). And be forgiven. My child, he has done a cruel and shameful wrong to her, and to you, and to another woman — the woman who bore him; but his remorse will be long, and two of these women ask the third one to help him to bear it. (SPEAKING WITH STILL MORE EMOTION)
Margaret, another woman also asks that of you — a woman who has grown old without being a wife or a mother — a woman who thinks that her poor tragedy is a heavier one to bear than yours.