Complete Works of J. M. Barrie
Page 292
The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped — note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the womenfolks of this strong man’s house both adore and fear him.
He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him tonight, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.)
CRICHTON. Clear, please.
(LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.)
CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich.
LADY MARY. Thank you.
(The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women.
LADY MARY’S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.)
CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl.
LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La!
CRICHTON (smiling). And I’m not the first you’ve heard it from, I’ll swear.
LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God!
CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly?
LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not.
CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest —
LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don’t say that it’s for want of asking.
CRICHTON (emphatically). I’m sure it isn’t. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear.
(Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.)
CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day?
LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove.
CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge?
LADY MARY. I went across on the rope.
CRICHTON. Hand over hand?
LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn’t in the least dizzy.
CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again.
LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov.
CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it.
LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall.
CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know.
LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan’t.
CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons — (A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm?
LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I’m an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don’t try half hard enough to please you. I’m even wearing — (she looks down sadly) — when I know you prefer it.
CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don’t, Polly; that’s nothing.
LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov.
CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much — (he half rises) — very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.)
CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don’t quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands.
LADY MARY. What do I do?
CRICHTON. So — like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd.
LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten?
CRICHTON. What?
LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that.
CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible!
LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven’t for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants.
CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.)
LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov.
CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you.
LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov.
CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England — (He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.)
LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again.
CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time — Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.)
LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both.
CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly — that butler — in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a faraway figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I’d haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant.
LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real.
LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature —
CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature.
LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby.
CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. ‘Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.’ It may have been; you hear me, it may have been.
LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been.
CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) ‘I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.’
LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me — every woman likes to know — when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others?
CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you outdistanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day.
LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity —
CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband.
LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table.
CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like.
LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet.
CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side.
(They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.)
CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty?
CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov.
CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That’s right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.)
CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don’t like it.
ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.)
CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you.
LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam?
CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy.
LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.)
CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife.
LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly!
CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret — but nature; may I hope I have your approval?
LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.)
TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily.
ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir.
(There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.)
TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.?
CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance tonight. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour — you understand.
(He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.)
LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me.
LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses.
(In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.)
CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it’s a shame.
AGATHA. After he had almost promised you.
TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. ‘Twas me as was too vulgar. Don’t you dare say a word agin that man.
ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You’ll get a lot of titbits out of this, Daddy.
LORD LOAM. That’s what I was thinking.
ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now.
LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.)
TREHERNE (eagerly). That’s the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy’s music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment’s pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.)
CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on.
TREHERNE. We don’t like to before you, Gov.
CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish.
(The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.)
TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship’s gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.?
CRICHTON. Yes.
(In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.)
LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard.
LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child.
LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father.
LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes — a gun — I have often heard it. It’s only a dream, you know; why don’t we go on dancing?