by Peter Barnes
Tucker May I suggest silk tonight, sir?
13th Earl of Gurney Good idea, Tuck. For St George.
Tucker takes the silk rope and goes round to a pair of steps. He places them under a crossbeam at the corner of the bed and climbs up with the rope.
13th Earl of Gurney Ah, Tuck, there’s no end to duty. Every day’s like climbing a mountain. How did Tiberius do it at his age?
Tucker Willpower, sir.
13th Earl of Gurney The Law’s been my life, Tuck. And the reason is the soul of the Law. A judge can’t be unreasonable. So how can he be a lover, eh? Ours is a damned dry world, Tuck.
Tucker A long life, and a grey one, Your Lordship.
13th Earl of Gurney The power of life and death. No need of other vices. If you’ve once put on the black cap, everything else tastes like wax fruit.
Tucker ties the rope to a hook on the cross-beam. The rope hangs down in a noose. His Lordship peers up.
13th Earl of Gurney Noose a bit high, Tuck. Pull the knot down half an inch. That’s it.
Tucker comes down.
Tucker Will that be all, Your Lordship?
13th Earl of Gurney Whisky and soda in about five minutes as usual. Oh, Tuck, tell Cook the trial ends tomorrow. She knows I don’t like passing sentence on an empty stomach.
Tucker Very good, My Lord.
Tucker exits stage left. Humming to himself, His Lordship goes to the wardrobe and brings out a three-cornered cocked hat, a sword in a scabbard and a white tutu ballet skirt.
13th Earl of Gurney Nothing like a good English breakfast. Big meal of the day for the Guv’nor. Always sat at the head of the table. All the mail in front of him. He’d pass it out to the rest of us. Same with the newspapers. Always read The Times through first, in case there was anything too disturbing in it. Mother didn’t know what the word ‘Socialist’ meant till she was past fifty. Remember standing at the foot of this bed here, telling him I wanted to be a painter. ‘The Gurneys have never been slackers,’ he said. ‘Pulled their weight. Earned their privileges.’ Great concession letting me study law. Not the Gurney tradition. Always the Army.
He puts the tutu on, delicately flouncing it out.
The smell of cordite. The clash of steel. Feet, feet, feet, the boys are marching! A little more grapeshot Captain Bragg! Give ’em the cold steel, boys.
He straps the sword to his side and puts on the three-cornered hat.
Now dressed in three-cornered hat, ballet skirt, long underwear and sword, His Lordship curtseys and moves towards the steps, trembling slightly in anticipation.
Close. I can feel her hot breath. Wonderful. One slip. The worms have the best of it. They dine off the tenderest joints. Juicy breasts, white thighs, red hair colour of rust . . . the worms have the best of it.
He climbs up the steps, stands under the noose and comes to attention.
It is a far, far better thing I do now, than I have ever done.
He slips the noose over his head, trembling.
No, sir. No bandage. Die, my dear doctor? That’s the last thing I shall do. Is that you, my love? Now, come darling . . . to me . . . Ha! . . .
Stepping off the top of the steps, he dangles for a few seconds and begins to twitch and jump. He puts his feet back on the top of the steps. Gasping, he loosens the noose.
Touched him, saw her, towers of death and silence, angels of fire and ice. Saw Alexander covered with honey and beeswax in his tomb and felt the flowers growing over me. A man must have his visions. How else could an English judge and peer of the realm take moonlight trips to Marrakesh and Ponders End? See six vestal virgins smoking cigars? Moses in bedroom slippers? Naked bosoms floating past Formosa? Desperate diseases need desperate remedies. (Glancing towards the door.) Just time for a quick one. (Places noose over his head again.) Be of good cheer, Master Ridley, and play the man. There’s plenty of time to win this game, and thrash the Spaniards too. (Draws his sword.) Form squares, men! Smash the Mahdi, and Binnie Barnes!
With a lustful gurgle he steps off. But this time he knocks over the steps. Dangling helpless for a second he drops the sword and tries to tear the noose free, gesturing frantically. Every muscle begins to tremble. His legs jackknife up to his stomach; they jack-knife again and again with increasing speed and violence. The spasms reach a climax, then stop suddenly. The body goes limp and sways gently at the end of the rope. A discreet knock on door stage left.
Tucker (voice off) Your Lordship? Are you ready?
The door opens slightly. Tucker shuffles in carrying a tray with whisky and soda. He sees His Lordship.
Tucker Bleeding bloody hell!
Blackout.
Curtain.
Act One
Scene One
A great church organ thunders out ‘The Dead March from Saul’. The curtain parts enough to reveal the imposing figure of Bishop Bertram Lampton, magnificently dressed in red cope, surplice, embroidered stole and mitre. Four Pall Bearers in top hats and morning coats slowly cross downstage, bearing a coffin, draped with the Gurney banner.
Bishop Lampton (chanting) I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord; he that believeth in me though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.
Gilead is mine, and Manasses is mine: Ephraim also is the strength of my head; Judah is my lawgiver.
Moab is my washpot; over Edom will I cast out my shoe: Philistria, triumph thou because of me.
Who will lead me on to the strong city: who will bring me into Edom?
The Pall Bearers exit right. The curtain opens behind the Bishop to show His Lordship’s relatives dressed in black, standing grouped in the drawing room of the Gurney country house.
Bishop Lampton and Relatives (singing)
‘All things bright and beautiful.
All creatures great and small.
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.
The rich man in his castle,
The poor man at his gate.
God made them high and lowly,
And ordered their estate
As they sing, Bishop Lampton disrobes, handing his cope, surplice and mitre to Tucker. The Bishop has shrunk to a small, bald-headed, asthmatic old man in dog-collar and gaiters. As the last note of the hymn dies away and Tucker staggers off wings left with the robes, he smooths down his non-existent hair and waddles upstage to join the others.
Scene Two
The large drawing room of Gurney Manor. It is seventeenth century, except for the high double French-windows, now heavily curtained, stage right. Running the length of the back wall upstage is a narrow gallery: small stairways, upstage left and right, lead up to it. On the wall above the gallery are portraits of past Earls. Upstage centre, below the gallery, is a wide double doorway leading to the hall. Just above it the Gurney crest. Door, downstage left, and alongside, a bell rope. Sofa and chairs centre stage. Desk, chair and coffee table adjacent to the windows.
Lady Claire Gurney is on the sofa: long black cigarette holder, long black velvet gloves. Sir Charles Gurney stands ramrod stiff, his legs slightly apart, while Dinsdale Gurney lounges on the arm of the sofa, elegantly picking his nose. The asthmatic Bishop Lampton joins them.
Sir Charles Excellent service, Bertie. Created exactly the right impression.
Dinsdale Gurney Damned if I could understand a word of it.
Bishop Lampton Hardly expected you to, young man. It was a Church service. A service, Charles, I might add, I could not have conducted for someone who may have lain violent hands upon himself. A disturbing rumour has reached my ears. Did Ralph commit suicide?
Sir Charles Suicide? Tucker found Ralph hanging in the bedroom dressed in a cocked hat, underpants and a ballet skirt. Does that sound like suicide?
Dinsdale Gurney I’m sure if Uncle Ralph had wanted to do anything foolish he’d have done it decently. Bullet through the head, always the Gurney way.
Sir Charles No idea how these
malicious rumours get started. The Coroner’s verdict is clear enough. Accident brought on by the strain of overwork.
Bishop Lampton (sitting) Had to be sure. He’s buried in consecrated ground.
Dinsdale Gurney Still, you know, I must say it’s odd, Uncle Ralph found hanging around like that in a ballet skirt.
Claire Charles, didn’t you say Ralph always was rather artistic?
Sir Charles He was wilful, stubborn, and this time he went too far. But he was my brother – well, half-brother. I won’t have you calling him artistic.
Bishop Lampton Cocked hat? Why was he wearing a cocked hat?
Sir Charles Trying it on for size obviously. I told him not to stay a widower. The Guv’nor didn’t. Understood his duty to the family. Had to start breeding again. Not pleasant, I grant you, for a man of Ralph’s age. But it was something he had to get on top of.
Bishop Lampton Underpants? Why was he in his underpants?
Sir Charles Why not? Going to bed, wasn’t he? Thought our troubles were over when he took a fancy to young Grace Shelley. That would have solved everything.
Claire Yes, wouldn’t it just.
Dinsdale Gurney Frankly, I don’t understand all the plother. Uncle Ralph has an heir – Jack, the 14th Earl of Gurney.
Sir Charles Yes . . . It’s going to be awkward. Damned awkward.
Claire Ralph was aware of the situation. I’m sure he’s made proper arrangements. A matter of finding out who he’s appointed guardian of the estate.
Bishop Lampton But what was he doing in a ballet skirt? Answer me that!
Tucker enters upstage centre.
Tucker Mr Matthew Peake to see you, Sir Charles.
Sir Charles Right. Show him in.
Tucker steps aside, and Matthew Peake, solicitor, enters and gives him his trilby. He is a dessicated, deferential man with round shoulders, winged collar and a briefcase.
Sir Charles I believe you know everyone here, Peake.
Peake I have had that honour, Sir Charles.
Sir Charles All right, Tucker, that’ll be all. We’re not to be disturbed.
Peake Sir Charles, might I suggest Tucker stays. (Taps briefcase significantly.)
Sir Charles What? Oh quite. Well, Tucker, seems you’re going to hear something to your advantage.
Tucker Yes, sir.
He stands discreetly in the background, holding Peake’s trilby.
Peake May I take this opportunity to express my condolences.
Claire Tucker, do sit down.
Tucker Thank you, madam.
He sits on the edge of a chair, while Peake crosses to the desk and takes out some legal documents.
Peake Hmm, may I say, Sir Charles, how refreshing it is to meet with such restraint. Usually I’m afraid these occasions are so . . . emotional.
Sir Charles Do get on with it.
Peake But, Sir Charles, shouldn’t we wait? His Lordship’s heir . . .
Sir Charles Jack’s been notified. Wasn’t able to get away for the funeral. Not likely to come now.
Peake Very well, Sir Charles. I’ll inform him later.
All eyes now on Peake as he puts on horn-rimmed spectacles, and reads in a dry monotone.
(Reading.) ‘I, Ralph, Douglas, Christopher, Alexander, Gurney, of Gurney House in the county of Bedfordshire, hereby revoke all former wills and codicils and declare this to be my last will. I appoint Mr Matthew Peake of 17 Brownlow Gardens, Bedfordshire, to be the sole executor of this my Will. I give and bequeath unto my manservant, Daniel Tucker, the sum of twenty thousand pounds free of duty.’
Murmurs of surprise from the listeners. But no reaction from Tucker himself.
Peake There follow a number of bequests to various charities, which His Lordship was interested in. I’ll run through them briefly. ‘I bequeth the sum of five thousand pounds to the Tailwavers Registered National Charity. Three thousand pounds to the Bankers Beneficent Society Ltd.’ . . .
Tucker Yippee! (Shoots off the chair.) Twenty thousand! Twenty thousand smackers! Yawee!
Jumping clumsily into the air, and clicking his heels together, he flicks Peake’s trilby on to his head and gleefully capers forward.
Tucker (singing in a croak) ‘I’m Gilbert the Filbert the Knut with a “K”. (Gives gouty high kick.) The pride of Piccadilly, the blasé roué. Oh Hades! The ladies (Ogles Claire.) who leave their wooden huts, for Gilbert the Filbert, the Colonel of the Knuts.’ Yah!
Flinging open the door upstage he leaps raggedly out, arms held high. There is a crash off as he hits something, followed by a cackle of laughter. Silence in the room.
Dinsdale Gurney Tucker seems het up.
Bishop Lampton ‘So are the ways of everyone that is greedy of gain’. What about the Zambesi Mission, Peake? And the Overseas Bishoprics Fund?
Sir Charles Never mind that, Bertie. What about the estate?
Peake (continues reading) ‘I devise and bequeath all the remainder of my estate both real and personal whatsoever and wheresoever to which I might be entitled or over which I have any disposing at the time of my death, to my beloved son, Jack, Arnold, Alexander, Tancred, Gurney, the 14th Earl of Gurney, for his own use absolutely.’
Sir Charles (repeating slowly) ‘For his own use absolutely.’ But who’s been appointed legal guardian?
Peake No one.
Bishop Lampton ‘By the rivers of Babylon there we sat down, yea, we wept when we remembered Zion.’
Sir Charles You mean Jack is free to run the estate . . . and everything . . . ?
Claire Think of Jack in the Royal Enclosure.
Bishop Lampton Jack in the Athenæum.
Sir Charles It’s obvious Ralph has let his personal feelings come before his duty to his family. We’ll have to fight. Awkward. Scandal an’ all. But we’ve no choice.
Peake (diffidently reading) ‘If this my Will is contested, the whole of my estate, both real and personal, is bequeathed to the charities named herewith: The Earl Haig Fund, Lord Wharton’s . . . ’
The rest is drowned out as all start shouting angrily. They are too busy yelling to notice Tucker appear in the doorway upstage centre smoking a cigar. He disappears for a second, reappearing immediately carrying a large hall vase. Holding it up, he deliberately drops it on the floor. It smashes with a loud crash. The shouting stops. They all turn in astonishment. Tucker takes the cigar out of his mouth and makes the announcement in his usual calm, respectful tone.
Tucker Ladies and gentlemen. The Queen’s Right Trusty and Well Beloved Cousin – Jack, Arnold, Alexander, Tancred, Gurney, the 14th Earl of Gurney.
Surprised gasps. Tucker steps to one side. The sound of approaching footsteps. All eyes on the door. Bishop Lampton’s asthma becomes painfully pronounced as the tension mounts. His breathing turns into a thin, high-pitched screech as the new Earl of Gurney finally appears in the doorway: a Franciscan monk of the Capuchin Order. His habit is a coarse, brown tunic, cord, girdle, pointed cowl, bare feet in sandals. Tall and ascetic, the Earl has a sensitive face, fair beard and a magnetic personality.
Earl of Gurney Hello . . . (Hands clasped in his large sleeves, he crosses downstage.) I’m sorry I wasn’t here before but I only received the news yesterday. I’m afraid our little community is somewhat cut off. I hope you’ll forgive me. I know he would. My sorrow isn’t less, or the pain. I’ve just been to his grave. Thank you, Uncle Charles, for making all the arrangements.
Sir Charles looks uncomfortable.
Earl of Gurney Aunt Claire, it’s been so long. You haven’t changed.
Claire Nor you.
Earl of Gurney You must be Dinsdale?
Dinsdale Gurney Er – yes, I must. How do you do, sir.
Earl of Gurney (turning to Bishop Lampton) Are you still angry with me, Bishop?
But speechless with asthma, Bishop Lampton can only wave him away feebly.
Earl of Gurney First let me put your minds at rest. The choice has been made. I’ve come back to take my proper place in the worl
d. The monastic ideal isn’t easy. I’ve had many broken nights. But I’ve come back refreshed. (He smiles.) Though hardly equipped for society. I shall need your help, Uncle Charles. We’re all one family. Let’s wash away the old sores. If the Bishop doesn’t mind, I think we should pray.
Sir Charles Pray?
Earl of Gurney For love and understanding. Surely you pray for love and understanding?
Claire (looking at Sir Charles) Every night. Without success.
Peake moves silently towards the door.
Earl of Gurney You too, Mr Peake.
Peake I’m Methodist.
Earl of Gurney I’m sure you’re still a Christian. (Gestures gently.) Come, for me.
Peake Yes, My Lord.
Embarrassed, he begins awkwardly to kneel. Claire smiles slightly and joins Peake and Tucker on her knees. Sir Charles is about to protest but then thinks better of it. Clenching his jaw, he follows, pulling Dinsdale down with him. Bishop Lampton fights off a violent asthma attack with an inhaler while the others kneel round the Earl. The lights start to dim down to a spot on them as he holds out his hand in blessing.
Earl of Gurney A prayer should rise up like incense. For you are acknowledging the power and goodness of God. It’s an act of faith and a union. A prayer is not a request, but an appeal. To pray means to ask, to beg, to plead. A prayer is a message to Heaven. You are talking directly to God . . . Express your desires freely, don’t be afraid, I know them already. (They all look up at him in horror.) For I am the Creator and ruler of the Universe, Khoda, the One Supreme Being and Infinite Personal Being, Yaweh, Shangri-Ti and El, the First Immovable Mover. Yea, I am the Absolute Unknowable Righteous Eternal, the Lord of Hosts, the King of Kings, Lord of Lords, the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, the One True God, the God of Love, the Naz!
A strangled cry from Bishop Lampton as he slips off his chair and thuds unconscious on to the floor in the darkness.
Scene Three
A plain white backing lowered immediately downstage centre into the spot, cutting the Earl of Gurney from view, Sir Charles and Dr Paul Herder, a thin man with a cold manner, enter from wings left and stand in front of it.