by Tom Stoppard
BIRDBOOT: But quite sound.
MRS. DRUDGE: Should a stranger enter our midst, which I very much doubt, I will tell him you called. Good-bye.
(She puts down the phone and catches sight of the previously seen suspicious character who has now entered again, more suspiciously than ever, through the french windows. He senses her stare, freezes, and straightens up.)
SIMON: Ah!—hello there! I’m Simon Gascoyne, I hope you don’t mind, the door was open so I wandered in. I’m a friend of Lady Muldoon, the lady of the house, having made her acquaintance through a mutual friend, Felicity Cunningham, shortly after moving into this neighbourhood just the other day.
MRS. DRUDGE: I’m Mrs. Drudge. I don’t live in but I pop in on my bicycle when the weather allows to help in the running of charming though somewhat isolated Muldoon Manor. Judging by the time (she glances at the clock) you did well to get here before high water cut us off for all practical purposes from the outside world.
SIMON: I took the short cut over the cliffs and followed one of the old smugglers’ paths through the treacherous swamps that surround this strangely inaccessible house.
MRS. DRUDGE: Yes, many visitors have remarked on the topographical quirk in the local strata whereby there are no roads leading from the Manor, though there are ways of getting to it, weather allowing.
SIMON: Yes, well I must say it’s a lovely day so far.
MRS. DRUDGE: Ah, but now that the cuckoo-beard is in bud there’ll be fog before the sun hits Foster’s Ridge.
SIMON: I say, it’s wonderful how you country people really know weather.
MRS. DRUDGE (suspiciously): Know whether what?
SIMON (glancing out of the window): Yes, it does seem to be coming on a bit foggy.
MRS. DRUDGE: The fog is very treacherous around here—it rolls off the sea without warning, shrouding the cliffs in a deadly mantle of blind man’s buff.
SIMON: Yes, I’ve heard it said.
MRS. DRUDGE: I’ve known whole week-ends when Muldoon Manor, as this lovely old Queen Anne House is called, might as well have been floating on the pack ice for all the good it would have done phoning the police. It was on such a week-end as this that Lord Muldoon who had lately brought his beautiful bride back to the home of his ancestors, walked out of this house ten years ago, and his body was never found.
SIMON: Yes, indeed, poor Cynthia.
MRS. DRUDGE: His name was Albert.
SIMON: Yes indeed, poor Albert. But tell me, is Lady Muldoon about?
MRS. DRUDGE: I believe she is playing tennis on the lawn with Felicity Cunningham.
SIMON (startled): Felicity Cunningham?
MRS. DRUDGE: A mutual friend, I believe you said. A happy chance. I will tell them you are here.
SIMON: Well, I can’t really stay as a matter of fact—please don’t disturb them—I really should be off.
MRS. DRUDGE: They would be very disappointed. It is some time since we have had a four for pontoon bridge at the Manor, and I don’t play cards myself.
SIMON: There is another guest, then?
MRS. DRUDGE: Major Magnus, the crippled half-brother of Lord Muldoon who turned up out of the blue from Canada just the other day, completes the house-party.
(MRS. DRUDGE leaves on this, SIMON is undecided.)
MOON (ruminating quietly): I think I must be waiting for Higgs to die.
BIRDBOOT: What?
MOON: Half afraid that I will vanish when he does.
(The phone rings, SIMON picks it up.)
SIMON: Hello?
MOON: I wonder if it’s the same for Puckeridge?
BIRDBOOT AND SIMON (together): Who?
MOON: Third string.
BIRDBOOT: Your stand-in?
MOON: Does he wait for Higgs and I to write each other’s obituary—does he dream——?
SIMON: To whom did you wish to speak?
BIRDBOOT: What’s he like?
MOON: Bitter.
SIMON: There is no one of that name here.
BIRDBOOT: No—as a critic, what’s Puckeridge like as a critic?
MOON (laughs poisonously): Nobody knows——
SIMON: You must have got the wrong number!
MOON: —there’s always been me and Higgs.
(SIMON replaces the phone and paces nervously. Pause. BIRDBOOT consults his programme.)
BIRDBOOT: Simon Gascoyne. It’s not him, of course.
MOON: What?
BIRDBOOT: I said it’s not him.
MOON: Who is it, then?
BIRDBOOT: My guess is Magnus.
MOON: In disguise, you mean?
BIRDBOOT: What?
MOON: You think he’s Magnus in disguise?
BIRDBOOT: I don’t think you’re concentrating, Moon.
MOON: I thought you said——
BIRDBOOT: You keep chattering on about Higgs and Puckeridge —what’s the matter with you?
MOON (thoughtfully): I wonder if they talk about me…?
(A strange impulse makes SIMON turn on the radio.)
RADIO: Here is another police message. Essex county police are still searching in vain for the madman who is at large in the deadly marshes of the coastal region. Inspector Hound who is masterminding the operation, is not available for comment but it is widely believed that he has a secret plan…. Meanwhile police and volunteers are combing the swamps with loud-hailers, shouting, “Don’t be a madman, give yourself up.” That is the end of the police message.
(SIMON turns off the radio. He is clearly nervous. MOON and BIRDBOOT are on separate tracks.)
BIRDBOOT (knowingly): Oh yes….
MOON: Yes, I should think my name is seldom off Puckeridge’s lips … sad, really. I mean, it’s no life at all, a stand-in’s stand-in.
BIRDBOOT: Yes … yes….
MOON: Higgs never gives me a second thought. I can tell by the way he nods.
BIRDBOOT: Revenge, of course.
MOON: What?
BIRDBOOT: Jealousy.
MOON: Nonsense—there’s nothing personal in it——
BIRDBOOT: The paranoid grudge——
MOON (sharply first, then starting to career …): It is merely that it is not enough to wax at another’s wane, to be held in reserve, to be on hand, on call, to step in or not at all, the substitute—the near offer—the temporary-acting—for I am Moon, continuous Moon, in my own shoes, Moon in June, April, September and no member of the human race keeps warm my bit of space—yes, I can tell by the way he nods.
BIRDBOOT: Quite mad, of course.
MOON: What?
BIRDBOOT: The answer lies out there in the swamps.
MOON: Oh.
BIRDBOOT: The skeleton in the cupboard is coming home to roost.
MOON: Oh yes. (He clears his throat … for both he and BIRDBOOT have a “public” voice, a critic voice which they turn on for sustained pronouncements of opinion.) Already in the opening stages we note the classic impact of the catalystic figure—the outsider—plunging through to the centre of an ordered world and setting up the disruptions—the shock waves—which unless I am much mistaken, will strip these comfortable people—these crustaceans in the rock pool of society—strip them of their shells and leave them exposed as the trembling raw meat which, at heart, is all of us. But there is more to it than that——
BIRDBOOT: I agree—keep your eye on Magnus.
(A tennis ball bounces through the french windows, closely followed by FELICITY, who is in her 20’s. She wears a pretty tennis outfit, and carries a racket.)
FELICITY (calling behind her): Out!
(It takes her a moment to notice SIMON who is standing shiftily to one side. MOON is stirred by a memory.)
MOON: I say, Birdboot….
BIRDBOOT: That’s the one.
FELICITY (catching sight of SIMON): You!
(FELICITY’s manner at the moment is one of great surprise but some pleasure.)
SIMON (nervously): Er, yes—hello again.
FELICITY: What are you doing
here?
SIMON: Well, I….
MOON: She’s——
BIRDBOOT: Sssh….
SIMON: No doubt you’re surprised to see me.
FELICITY: Honestly, darling, you really are extraordinary.
SIMON: Yes, well, here I am.
FELICITY: You must have been desperate to see me—I mean, I’m flattered, but couldn’t it wait till I got back?
SIMON (bravely): There is something you don’t know.
FELICITY: What is it?
SIMON: Look, about the things I said—it may be that I got carried away a little—we both did——
FELICITY (stiffly):What are you trying to say?
SIMON: I love another!
FELICITY: I see.
SIMON: I didn’t make any promises—I merely——
FELICITY: You don’t have to say any more——
SIMON: Oh, I didn’t want to hurt you——
FELICITY: Of all the nerve!
SIMON: Well, I——
FELICITY: You philandering coward——
SIMON: Let me explain——
FELICITY: This is hardly the time and place—you think you can barge in anywhere, whatever I happen to be doing——
SIMON: But I want you to know that my admiration for you is sincere—I don’t want you to think that I didn’t mean those things I said——
FELICITY: I’ll kill you for this, Simon Gascoyne!
(She leaves in tears, passing MRS. DRUDGE who has entered in time to overhear her last remark.)
MOON: It was her.
BIRDBOOT: I told you—straight to the top——
MOON: No, no——
BIRDBOOT: Sssh….
SIMON (to MRS. DRUDGE): Yes, what is it?
MRS. DRUDGE: I have come to set up the card table, sir.
SIMON: I don’t think I can stay.
MRS. DRUDGE: Oh, Lady Muldoon will be disappointed.
SIMON: Does she know I’m here?
MRS. DRUDGE: Oh yes, sir, I just told her and it put her in quite a tizzy.
SIMON: Really? … Well, I suppose now that I’ve cleared the air…. Quite a tizzy, you say … really … really…
(He and MRS. DRUDGE start setting up for card game. MRS. DRUDGE leaves when this is done.)
MOON: Felicity!—she’s the one.
BIRDBOOT: Nonsense—red herring.
MOON: I mean, it was her!
BIRDBOOT (exasperated): What was?
MOON: That lady I saw you with last night!
BIRDBOOT (inhales with fury): Are you suggesting that a man of my scrupulous integrity would trade his pen for a mess of potage?! Simply because in the course of my profession I happen to have struck up an acquaintance—to have, that is, a warm regard, if you like, for a fellow toiler in the vineyard of greasepaint—I find it simply intolerable to be pillified and villoried——
MOON: I never implied——
BIRDBOOT: —to find myself the object of uninformed malice, the petty slanders of little men——
MOON: I’m sorry——
BIRDBOOT: —to suggest that my good opinion in a journal of unimpeachable integrity is at the disposal of the first coquette who gives me what I want——
MOON: Sssssh——
BIRDBOOT: A ladies’ man! … Why, Myrtle and I have been together now for—Christ!—who’s that?
(Enter LADY CYNTHIA MULDOON through french windows. A beautiful woman in her thirties. She wears a cocktail dress, is formally coiffured, and carries a tennis racket.)
(Her effect on BIRDBOOT is also impressive. He half rises and sinks back agape.)
CYNTHIA (entering):Simon!
(A dramatic freeze between her and SIMON.)
MOON: Lady Muldoon.
BIRDBOOT: No, I mean—who is she?
SIMON (coming forward): Cynthia!
CYNTHIA: Don’t say anything for a moment—just hold me.
(He seizes her and glues his lips to hers, as they say. While their lips are glued——)
BIRDBOOT: She’s beautiful—a vision of eternal grace, a poem…
MOON: I think she’s got her mouth open.
(CYNTHIA breaks away dramatically.)
CYNTHIA: We can’t go on meeting like this!
SIMON: We have nothing to be ashamed of!
CYNTHIA: But darling, this is madness!
SIMON: Yes!—I am mad with love for you!
CYNTHIA: Please—remember where we are!
SIMON: Cynthia, I love you!
CYNTHIA: Don’t—I love Albert!
SIMON: He’s dead! (Shaking her.) Do you understand me—Albert’s dead!
CYNTHIA: No—I’ll never give up hope! Let me go! We are not free!
SIMON: I don’t care, we were meant for each other—had we but met in time.
CYNTHIA: You’re a cad, Simon! You will use me and cast me aside as you have cast aside so many others.
SIMON: No, Cynthia!—you can make me a better person!
CYNTHIA: You’re ruthless—so strong, so cruel——
(Ruthlessly he kisses her.)
MOON: The son she never had, now projected in this handsome stranger and transformed into lover—youth, vigour, the animal, the athlete as aesthete—breaking down the barriers at the deepest level of desire.
BIRDBOOT: By jove, I think you’re right. Her mouth is open.
(CYNTHIA breaks away. MRS. DRUDGE has entered.)
CYNTHIA. Stop—can’t you see you’re making a fool of yourself!
SIMON: I’ll kill anyone who comes between us!
CYNTHIA: Yes, what is it, Mrs. Drudge?
MRS. DRUDGE: Should I close the windows, my lady? The fog is beginning to roll off the sea like a deadly——
CYNTHIA: Yes, you’d better. It looks as if we’re in for one of those days. Are the cards ready?
MRS. DRUDGE: Yes, my lady.
CYNTHIA: Would you tell Miss Cunningham we are waiting.
MRS. DRUDGE: Yes, my lady.
CYNTHIA: And fetch the Major down.
MRS. DRUDGE: I think I hear him coming downstairs now (as she leaves).
(She does: the sound of a wheelchair approaching down several flights of stairs with landings in between. It arrives bearing MAGNUS at about 15 m.p.h., knocking SIMON over violently.)
CYNTHIA: Simon!
MAGNUS (roaring): Never had a chance! Ran under the wheels!
CYNTHIA: Darling, are you all right?
MAGNUS: I have witnesses!
CYNTHIA: Oh, Simon—say something!
SIMON (sitting up suddenly):I’m most frightfully sorry.
MAGNUS (shouting yet): How long have you been a pedestrian?
SIMON: Ever since I could walk.
CYNTHIA: Can you walk now…?
(SIMON rises and walks.)
Thank God! Magnus, this is Simon Gascoyne.
MAGNUS: What’s he doing here?
CYNTHIA: He just turned up.
MAGNUS: Really? How do you like it here?
SIMON (to CYNTHIA): I could stay for ever.
(FELICITY enters.)
FELICITY: So—you’re still here.
CYNTHIA: Of course he’s still here. We’re going to play cards. There’s no need to introduce you two, is there, for I recall now that you, Simon, met me through Felicity, our mutual friend.
FELICITY: Yes, Simon is an old friend, though not as old as you, Cynthia dear.
SIMON: Yes, I haven’t seen Felicity since——
FELICITY: Last night.
CYNTHIA: Indeed? Well, you deal, Felicity. Simon, you help me with the sofa. Will you partner Felicity, Magnus, against Simon and me?
MAGNUS (aside): Will Simon and you always be partnered against me, Cynthia?
CYNTHIA: What do you mean, Magnus?
MAGNUS: You are a damned attractive woman, Cynthia.
CYNTHIA: Please! Please! Remember Albert!
MAGNUS: Albert’s dead, Cynthia—and you are still young. I’m sure he would have wished that you and I——
CYNTH
IA: No, Magnus, this is not to be!
MAGNUS: It’s Gascoyne, isn’t it? I’ll kill him if he comes between us!
CYNTHIA (calling): Simon!
(The sofa is shoved towards the card table, once more revealing the corpse, though not to the players.)
BIRDBOOT: Simon’s for the chop all right.
CYNTHIA: Right! Who starts?
MAGNUS: I do. No bid.
CYNTHIA: Did I hear you say you saw Felicity last night, Simon?
SIMON: Did I?—Ah yes, yes, quite—your turn, Felicity.
FELICITY: I’ve had my turn, haven’t I, Simon?—now, it seems, it’s Cynthia’s turn.
CYNTHIA: That’s my trick, Felicity dear.
FELICITY: Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, Simon.
SIMON: Yes, I’ve heard it said.
FELICITY: So I hope you have not been cheating, Simon.
SIMON (standing up and throwing down his cards): No, Felicity, it’s just that I hold the cards!
CYNTHIA: Well done, Simon!
(MAGNUS pays SIMON, while CYNTHIA deals)
FELICITY: Strange how Simon appeared in the neighbourhood from nowhere. We know so little about him.
SIMON: It doesn’t always pay to show your hand!
CYNTHIA: Right! Simon, it’s your opening on the minor bid.
(SIMON plays.)
CYNTHIA: Hm, let’s see…. (Plays.)
FELICITY: I hear there’s a dangerous madman on the loose.
CYNTHIA: Simon?
SIMON: Yes—yes—sorry. (Plays)
CYNTHIA: I meld.
FELICITY: Yes—personally, I think he’s been hiding out in the deserted cottage (plays) on the cliffs.
SIMON: Flush!
CYNTHIA: No! Simon—your luck’s in tonight!
FELICITY: We shall see—the night is not over yet, Simon Gascoyne! (She exits.)
MAGNUS pays SIMON again.
SIMON (to MAGNUS): So you’re the crippled half-brother of Lord Muldoon who turned up out of the blue from Canada just the other day, are you? It’s taken you a long time to get here. What did you do—walk? Oh, I say, I’m most frightfully sorry!
MAGNUS: Care for a spin round the rose garden, Cynthia?
CYNTHIA: No, Magnus, I must talk to Simon.
SIMON: My round, I think, Major.
MAGNUS: You think so?
SIMON: Yes, Major—I do.
MAGNUS. There’s an old Canadian proverb handed down from the Bladfoot Indians, which says: He who laughs last laughs longest.
SIMON: Yes, I’ve heard it said.
(SIMON turns away to CYNTHIA)
MAGNUS: Well, I think I’ll go and oil my gun. (He exits.)