by Unknown
(The curtain falls, and we do not see the sisters again for ten years.)
ACT II
THE SCHOOL
Ten years later. It is the blue and white room still, but many of Miss Susan’s beautiful things have gone, some of them never to return; others are stored upstairs. Their place is taken by grim scholastic furniture: forms, a desk, a globe, a blackboard, heartless maps. It is here that Miss Phoebe keeps school. Miss Susan teaches in the room opening off it, once the spare bedroom, where there is a smaller blackboard (for easier sums) but no globe, as Miss Susan is easily alarmed. Here are the younger pupils unless they have grown defiant, when they are promoted to the blue and white room to be under Miss Phoebe’s braver rule. They really frighten Miss Phoebe also, but she does not let her sister know this.
It is noon on a day in August, and through the window we can see that Quality Street is decorated with flags. We also hear at times martial music from another street. Miss Phoebe is giving a dancing lesson to half a dozen pupils, and is doing her very best; now she is at the spinet while they dance, and again she is showing them the new step. We know it is Miss Phoebe because some of her pretty airs and graces still cling to her in a forlorn way, but she is much changed. Her curls are out of sight under a cap, her manner is prim, the light has gone from her eyes and buoyancy from her figure; she looks not ten years older but twenty, and not an easy twenty. When the children are not looking at her we know that she has the headache.
PHOEBE (who is sometimes at the spinet and sometimes dancing). Toes out. So. Chest out. Georgy. Point your toes, Miss Beveridge — so. So — keep in line; and young ladies, remember your toes. (GEORGY in his desire to please has protruded the wrong part of his person. She writes a C on his chest with chalk.) C stands for chest, Georgy. This is S.
(MISS SUSAN darts out of the other room. She is less worn than MISS PHOEBE.)
MISS SUSAN (whispering so that the pupils may not hear). Phoebe, how many are fourteen and seventeen?
PHOEBE (almost instantly). Thirty-one.
MISS SUSAN. I thank you. (She darts off.)
PHOEBE. That will do, ladies and gentlemen. You may go.
(They bow or curtsy, and retire to MISS SUSAN’S room, with the exception of ARTHUR WELLESLEY TOMSON, who is standing in disgrace in a corner with the cap of shame on his head, and ISABELLA, a forbidding-looking, learned little girl. ISABELLA holds up her hand for permission to speak.)
ISABELLA. Please, ma’am, father wishes me to acquire algebra.
PHOEBE (with a sinking). Algebra! It — it is not a very ladylike study, Isabella.
ISABELLA. Father says, will you or won’t you?
PHOEBE. And you are thin. It will make you thinner, my dear.
ISABELLA. Father says I am thin but wiry.
PHOEBE. Yes, you are. (With feeling.) You are very wiry, Isabella.
ISABELLA. Father says, either I acquire algebra or I go to Miss Prothero’s establishment.
PHOEBE. Very well, I — I will do my best. You may go.
(ISABELLA goes and PHOEBE sits wearily.)
ARTHUR (fingering his cap). Please, ma’am, may I take it off now?
PHOEBE. Certainly not. Unhappy boy —— (ARTHUR grins.) Come here. Are you ashamed of yourself?
ARTHUR (blithely). No, ma’am.
PHOEBE (in a terrible voice). Arthur Wellesley Tomson, fetch me the implement. (ARTHUR goes briskly for the cane, and she hits the desk with it.) Arthur, surely that terrifies you?
ARTHUR. No, ma’am.
PHOEBE. Arthur, why did you fight with that street boy?
ARTHUR. ‘Cos he said that when you caned you did not draw blood.
PHOEBE. But I don’t, do I?
ARTHUR. No, ma’am.
PHOEBE. Then why fight him? (Remembering how strange boys are.) Was it for the honour of the school?
ARTHUR. Yes, ma’am.
PHOEBE. Say you are sorry, Arthur, and I won’t punish you.
(He bursts into tears.)
ARTHUR. You promised to cane me, and now you are not going to do it.
PHOEBE (incredulous). Do you wish to be caned?
ARTHUR (holding out his hand eagerly). If you please, Miss Phoebe.
PHOEBE. Unnatural boy. (She canes him in a very unprofessional manner.) Poor dear boy.
(She kisses the hand.)
ARTHUR (gloomily). Oh, ma’am, you will never be able to cane if you hold it like that. You should hold it like this, Miss Phoebe, and give it a wriggle like that.
(She is too soft-hearted to follow his instructions.)
PHOEBE (almost in tears). Go away.
ARTHUR (remembering that women are strange). Don’t cry, ma’am; I love you, Miss Phoebe.
(She seats him on her knee, and he thinks of a way to please her.)
If any boy says you can’t cane I will blood him, Miss Phoebe.
(PHOEBE shudders, and MISS SUSAN again darts in. She signs to PHOEBE to send ARTHUR away.)
MISS SUSAN (as soon as ARTHUR has gone). Phoebe, if a herring and a half cost three ha’pence, how many for elevenpence?
PHOEBE (instantly). Eleven.
MISS SUSAN. William Smith says it is fifteen; and he is such a big boy, do you think I ought to contradict him? May I say there are differences of opinion about it? No one can be really sure, Phoebe.
PHOEBE. It is eleven. I once worked it out with real herrings. (Stoutly.) Susan, we must never let the big boys know that we are afraid of them. To awe them, stamp with the foot, speak in a ferocious voice, and look them unflinchingly in the face. (Then she pales.) Oh, Susan, Isabella’s father insists on her acquiring algebra.
MISS SUSAN. What is algebra exactly; is it those three cornered things?
PHOEBE. It is x minus y equals z plus y and things like that. And all the time you are saying they are equal, you feel in your heart, why should they be.
(The music of the band swells here, and both ladies put their hands to their ears.)
It is the band for tonight’s ball. We must not grudge their rejoicings, Susan. It is not every year that there is a Waterloo to celebrate.
MISS SUSAN. I was not thinking of that. I was thinking that he is to be at the ball tonight; and we have not seen him for ten years.
PHOEBE (calmly). Yes, ten years. We shall be glad to welcome our old friend back, Susan. I am going in to your room now to take the Latin class.
(A soldier with a girl passes — a yokel follows angrily.)
MISS SUSAN. Oh, that weary Latin, I wish I had the whipping of the man who invented it.
(She returns to her room, and the sound of the music dies away. MISS PHOEBE, who is not a very accomplished classical scholar, is taking a final peep at the declensions when MISS SUSAN reappears excitedly.)
PHOEBE. What is it?
MISS SUSAN (tragically). William Smith! Phoebe, I tried to look ferocious, indeed I did, but he saw I was afraid, and before the whole school he put out his tongue at me.
PHOEBE. Susan!
(She is lion-hearted; she remembers ARTHUR’S instructions, and practises with the cane.)
MISS SUSAN (frightened). Phoebe, he is much too big. Let it pass.
PHOEBE. If I let it pass I am a stumbling-block in the way of true education.
MISS SUSAN. Sister.
PHOEBE (grandly). Susan, stand aside.
(Giving the cane ARTHUR’S most telling flick, she marches into the other room. Then, while MISS SUSAN is listening nervously, CAPTAIN VALENTINE BROWN is ushered in by PATTY. He is bronzed and soldierly. He wears the whiskers of the period, and is in uniform. He has lost his left hand, but this is not at first noticeable.)
PATTY. Miss Susan, ‘tis Captain Brown!
MISS SUSAN. Captain Brown!
VALENTINE (greeting her warmly). Reports himself at home again.
MISS SUSAN (gratified). You call this home?
VALENTINE. When the other men talked of their homes, Miss Susan, I thought of this room. (Looking about him.) Maps — desks — heigho! But sti
ll it is the same dear room. I have often dreamt, Miss Susan, that I came back to it in muddy shoes. (Seeing her alarm.) I have not, you know! Miss Susan, I rejoice to find no change in you; and Miss Phoebe — Miss Phoebe of the ringlets — I hope there be as little change in her?
MISS SUSAN (painfully). Phoebe of the ringlets! Ah, Captain Brown, you need not expect to see her.
VALENTINE. She is not here? I vow it spoils all my homecoming.
(At this moment the door of the other room is filing open and PHOEBE rushes out, followed by WILLIAM SMITH who is brandishing the cane. VALENTINE takes in the situation, and without looking at PHOEBE seizes WILLIAM by the collar and marches him out of the school.)
MISS SUSAN. Phoebe, did you see who it is?
PHOEBE. I saw. (In a sudden tremor.) Susan, I have lost all my looks.
(The pupils are crowding in from MISS SUSAN’S room and she orders them back and goes with them. VALENTINE returns, and speaks as he enters, not recognising PHOEBE, whose back is to him.)
VALENTINE. A young reprobate, madam, but I have deposited him on the causeway. I fear —
(He stops, puzzled because the lady has covered her face with her hands.)
PHOEBE. Captain Brown.
VALENTINE. Miss Phoebe, it is you?
(He goes to her, but he cannot help showing that her appearance is a shock to him.)
PHOEBE (without bitterness). Yes, I have changed very much, I have not worn well, Captain Brown.
VALENTINE (awkwardly). We — we are both older, Miss Phoebe.
(He holds out his hand warmly, with affected high spirits.)
PHOEBE (smiling reproachfully). It was both hands when you went away. (He has to show that his left hand is gone; she is overcome.) I did not know. (She presses the empty sleeve in remorse.) You never mentioned it in your letters.
VALENTINE (now grown rather stern). Miss Phoebe, what did you omit from your letters that you had such young blackguards as that to terrify you?
PHOEBE. He is the only one. Most of them are dear children; and this is the last day of the term.
VALENTINE. Ah, ma’am, if only you had invested all your money as you laid out part by my advice. What a monstrous pity you did not.
PHOEBE. We never thought of it.
VALENTINE. You look so tired.
PHOEBE. I have the headache to-day.
VALENTINE. You did not use to have the headache. Curse those dear children.
PHOEBE (bravely). Nay, do not distress yourself about me. Tell me of yourself. We are so proud of the way in which you won your commission. Will you leave the army now?
VALENTINE. Yes; and I have some intention of pursuing again the old life in Quality Street. (He is not a man who has reflected much. He has come back thinking that all the adventures have been his, and that the old life in Quality Street has waited, as in a sleep, to be resumed on the day of his return.) I came here in such high spirits, Miss Phoebe.
PHOEBE (with a wry smile). The change in me depresses you.
VALENTINE. I was in hopes that you and Miss Susan would be going to the ball. I had brought cards for you with me to make sure.
(She is pleased and means to accept. He sighs, and she understands that he thinks her too old.)
PHOEBE. But now you see that my dancing days are done.
VALENTINE (uncomfortably). Ah, no.
PHOEBE (taking care he shall not see that he has hurt her). But you will find many charming partners. Some of them have been my pupils. There was even a pupil of mine who fought at Waterloo.
VALENTINE. Young Blades; I have heard him on it. (She puts her hand wearily to her head). Miss Phoebe — what a dull grey world it is!
(She turns away to hide her emotion, and MISS SUSAN comes in.)
MISS SUSAN. Phoebe, I have said that you will not take the Latin class to-day, and I am dismissing them.
VALENTINE. Latin?
PHOEBE (rather defiantly). I am proud to teach it. (Breaking down.) Susan — his arm — have you seen?
(MISS SUSAN also is overcome, but recovers as the children crowd in.)
MISS SUSAN. Hats off, gentlemen salute, ladies curtsy — to the brave Captain Brown.
(CAPTAIN BROWN salutes them awkwardly, and they cheer him, to his great discomfort, as they pass out.)
VALENTINE (when they have gone). A terrible ordeal, ma’am.
(The old friends look at each other, and there is a silence. VALENTINE feels that all the fine tales and merry jests he has brought back for the ladies have turned into dead things. He wants to go away and think.)
PHOEBE. I wish you very happy at the ball.
VALENTINE (sighing). Miss Susan, cannot we turn all these maps and horrors out till the vacation is over?
MISS SUSAN. Indeed, sir, we always do. By tomorrow this will be my dear blue and white room again, and that my sweet spare bedroom.
PHOEBE. For five weeks!
VALENTINE (making vain belief). And then — the — the dashing Mr. Brown will drop in as of old, and, behold, Miss Susan on her knees once more putting tucks into my little friend the ottoman, and Miss Phoebe — Miss Phoebe ——
PHOEBE. Phoebe of the ringlets!
(She goes out quietly.)
VALENTINE (miserably). Miss Susan, what a shame it is.
MISS SUSAN (hotly). Yes, it is a shame.
VALENTINE (suddenly become more of a man). The brave Captain Brown! Good God, ma’am, how much more brave are the ladies who keep a school.
(PATTY shows in two visitors, MISS CHARLOTTE PARRATT and ENSIGN BLADES. CHARLOTTE is a pretty minx who we are glad to say does not reside in Quality Street, and BLADES is a callow youth, inviting admiration.)
CHARLOTTE (as they salute). But I did not know you had company, Miss Susan.
MISS SUSAN. ‘Tis Captain Brown — Miss Charlotte Parratt.
CHARLOTTE (gushing). The heroic Brown?
VALENTINE. Alas, no, ma’am, the other one.
CHARLOTTE. Miss Susan, do you see who accompanies me?
MISS SUSAN. I cannot quite recall ——
BLADES. A few years ago, ma’am, there sat in this room a scrubby, inky little boy — I was that boy.
MISS SUSAN. Can it be our old pupil — Ensign Blades?
(She thinks him very fine, and he bows, well pleased.)
BLADES. Once a little boy and now your most obedient, ma’am.
MISS SUSAN. You have come to recall old memories?
BLADES. Not precisely; I — Charlotte, explain.
CHARLOTTE. Ensign Blades wishes me to say that it must seem highly romantic to you to have had a pupil who has fought at Waterloo.
MISS SUSAN. Not exactly romantic. I trust, sir, that when you speak of having been our pupil you are also so obliging as to mention that it was during our first year. Otherwise it makes us seem so elderly.
(He bows again, in what he believes to be a quizzical manner.)
CHARLOTTE. Ensign Blades would be pleased to hear, Miss Susan, what you think of him as a whole.
MISS SUSAN. Indeed, sir, I think you are monstrous fine. (Innocently.) It quite awes me to remember that we used to whip him.
VALENTINE (delighted). Whipped him, Miss Susan! (In solemn burlesque of CHARLOTTE.) Ensign Blades wishes to indicate that it was more than Buonaparte could do. We shall meet again, bright boy.
(He makes his adieux and goes.)
BLADES. Do you think he was quizzing me?
MISS SUSAN (simply). I cannot think so.
BLADES. He said ‘bright boy,’ ma’am.
MISS SUSAN. I am sure, sir, he did not mean it.
(PHOEBE returns.)
PHOEBE. Charlotte, I am happy to see you. You look delicious, my dear — so young and fresh.
CHARLOTTE. La! Do you think so, Miss Phoebe?
BLADES. Miss Phoebe, your obedient.
PHOEBE. It is Ensign Blades! But how kind of you, sir, to revisit the old school. Please to sit down.
CHARLOTTE. Ensign Blades has a favour to ask of you, Miss Phoebe.<
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BLADES. I learn, ma’am, that Captain Brown has obtained a card for you for the ball, and I am here to solicit for the honour of standing up with you.
