The Ruling Class (Modern Plays)

by Peter Barnes

  Claire Don’t keep calling me madam.

  Earl of Gurney It’s hard to look at people from down-wind. They smell, they stink, they stench of stale greens, wet nappies. It’s terrible but it’s the real thing.

  Claire I’ve always wanted to find the real thing. Do you remember our first talk together after you came back?

  Earl of Gurney I remember nothing.

  Claire Explode, only feel, you said. Poor Jack. You didn’t know how impossible it was for our sort to feel.

  Earl of Gurney Why do you remember now what I said then, when I can’t remember myself?

  Claire Because you’re so different. I keep thinking about something that happened at my last term at Roedean. There’d been reports of a prowler in the grounds, probably a Peeping Tom. Something woke me about two a.m. and I went to the window and looked out. There was a shadow in the shadows. Somebody was watching me. It was a hot night but I started shivering and shaking. It was marvellous.

  Earl of Gurney Yea, I say unto you, fear Him. I’m no shadow. I’m flesh and blood. Touch.

  Claire (touching his cheek) Perhaps I’m not really dead, only sleeping. Wake me with a kiss.

  Earl of Gurney (takes her hand away) Remember our common consanguinity.

  Claire Don’t be ridiculous. I’m married to your father’s half-brother for my sins. That makes us practically strangers, bloodwise.

  He attempts to move away. She steps in front of him.

  Earl of Gurney (smiling) Are you accosting me?

  Claire (playing up) That’s right, ducks. ’Ow’s about it?

  They come close in the half-light. She kisses him on the mouth. The set begins to change to a nineteenth-century slum street in Whitechapel. A gauze lowered upstage shows a dark huddle of filthy houses, broken doors, windows stuffed with paper. Beyond, an impression of dark alleys, low arches, row upon row of lodging houses. It is dank and foggy. Stage left, a single flickering street lamp. Stage right a filthy brick wall with the name of the street: ‘Buck’s Row’. Drunken singing and street cries can be heard off: ‘Apple-a-pound-pears, whelks, they’re lovely’ and the clip-clop of a horse-drawn van over cobbles.

  The overall effect is of a furnished room in the middle of a London street.

  Moonlight shines through the French windows as the Earl and Claire cross the street to the sofa.

  Claire We’ll be alone here. They’re all out except Tucker and he’s drunk. Listen . . .

  They listen to a drunk singing in the distance.

  You don’t seem surprised this has happened to us, Jack?

  Earl of Gurney We were destined to meet.

  Claire That sounds romantic. More please.

  Earl of Gurney (low, passionate) Suuuuuck. GRAHHH. Spinnkk. The flesh lusteth against the spirit, against God. Labia, foreskin, testicles, scrotum.

  Claire That’s romantic?

  Earl of Gurney Orgasm, coitus, copulation, fornication. Gangrened shoulder of sex. If it offends. Tear. Tear. Spill the seed, gut-slime.

  Claire I know some women like being stimulated with dirty words, filthy talk. I don’t.

  She starts taking off his jacket, waistcoat and shirt.

  Earl of Gurney You want maggots crawling through black grass.

  Claire I want to hear you say you love me, even if it isn’t true.

  Earl of Gurney I’ve seen three thousand houses collapse exposing their privees to the naked eye. Oh, run, Mary. RUN.

  Claire You’re talking nonsense again, Jack.

  Earl of Gurney If thy eye offends thee pluck it out. You’ll be nicked down to your bloody membrane, Mary.

  Claire I want to hear how beautiful you think I am.

  Earl of Gurney You want two seconds of dripping sin to fertilise sodomized idiots.

  Claire Say something soft and tender.

  Earl of Gurney You want gullet and rack. Gugged SHAARK.

  Claire Tell me I’m fairer than the evening star. Clad in the beauty of a thousand nights.

  The Earl is now stripped to the waist. Claire caresses him.

  Earl of Gurney Cut-price lumps of flesh: three and six an hour. Calves’ paunches, tender tongue, ear-lobes, e-e-ar-lobesss, hearts, bladders, teats, nippllezzz.

  Claire (shivering) Lover.

  Earl of Gurney The sword of the Lord is filled with bloody –

  Claire (trembling violently) Stop talking, Jack, and make me immortal with a kiss.

  Putting his left arm around her waist he pulls her close, forcing her head back with a kiss. Taking out his knife, he flicks it open, and plunges it into her stomach. Bucking and writhing with the great knife thrust, Claire can only let out a muffled cry as the Earl’s mouth is still clamped over hers in a kiss. She writhes, twists and moans under two more powerful stabs. He lets her go.

  Earl of Gurney AHHHRREEEE. I’M ALIVE. ALIVE.

  She falls and dies. The Earl stands listening for a second, puts his knife away, picks up his clothes crosses stage right and leaves silently by the French windows. Even as he does so, the set begins to change back to the drawing-room interior, the gauze and street lamp are taken up as the noises off grow louder. Someone is heard yelling: ‘Help! Police!’ Sounds of men running. A police whistle blows shrilly, followed by a jumble of panic-stricken cries. These merge into a newsboy shouting ‘Read all about it! ’Orrible Murder. Murder and Mutilation in Whitechapel. Maniac claims another victim. Mary Ann Nichols found murdered in Buck’s Row. Read all about it!’ The drawing-room set is now completely restored. The hysterical hubbub dies down to a solitary drunk singing incoherently: ‘Come into the Garden Maud’. It grows louder as he comes closer. Tucker enters swaying and singing.

  Tucker ‘Come into the sh’ garden Maudy.’ Did you s’ ring? (Blinks, sees Claire on the floor.) ’S Lady Claire . . . are you comfortable? Stoned, eh? (Stumbles over.) Can I be of . . . aeeeehh.

  He gives a great rasping intake of breath at the sight and stands mumbling in shock. Then he shakes all over. But not from fear.

  Tucker (gleefully) One less! One less! Praise the Lord. Hallelujah.

  Convulsed with glee, he capers creakingly round the corpse in a weird dance. He freezes in mid-gesture as voices are heard off. Sir Charles, Dinsdale, Dr Herder and Grace come in.

  Sir Charles No lights, Tucker?

  Dinsdale switches on the lights.

  Dr Herder My God!

  They rush over. Grace puts her hand to her mouth in horror. Appalled, Dr Herder bends to examine the corpse while Sir Charles stares in disbelief, unable to find words to express himself. Finally he turns and explodes indignantly at the audience:

  Sir Charles All right, who’s the impudent clown responsible for this?

  Blackout.

  Scene Seven

  A great church organ plays and a choir sings the ‘Dies Irae’. As the last note of the terrifying hymn dies away, lights up on the drawing room to show Detective Inspector Brockett, a middle-aged man with a tired face, feeling his stomach, while his assistant, Detective Sergeant Fraser, checks through some notes. The carpet by the sofa has been pulled back and there is a cardboard outline of Claire’s body on the floor.

  Fraser (reads quickly) ‘Five-inch gash under right ear to centre of throat severing windpipe. Three stab wounds in lower abdomen. Two knife wounds, one veering to right slitting the groin and passing over the lower left hip, and the other straight up along the centre of the body to the breast bone. Severe bruising round the mouth. The pathologist thinks the murderer must have had some medical knowledge.’ Reminds me of the Drayhurst killing, sir.

  Brockett Not really. Martha Drayhurst was found all over the place. Arms and legs in Woolwich, trunk in Euston Station, and the rest of her turned up in Penge. Old Sam Drayhurst had a quirky sense of humour for a butcher. At least Lady Claire was all in one piece.

  Footsteps outside.

  They’re back. Bishop Lampton’ll be with ’em. How do you address a bishop?

  Fraser Bishop, sir.

  Brockett Bishop,
Bishop.

  Bishop Lampton enters supported by Sir Charles and Dinsdale. They have just come from the funeral.

  Bishop Lampton This house is doomed, Charles. I should never have allowed my poor sister to marry into this accursed family. It’s another House of Usher.

  Carefully avoiding the outline on the floor they half-carry Bishop Lampton downstage left and drop him into a chair, gasping.

  Sir Charles Don’t talk rubbish, Bertie. Terrible business, but we mustn’t lose our heads.

  Dinsdale Gurney How could anything like this happen to us? What was mother thinking of?

  Sir Charles (urgently) Not in front of strangers, Dinsdale. Brockett, why aren’t you running this animal to earth?

  Brockett Don’t you worry, sir, we’ll get him. But there’s still a few points I’d like to clear up. We know the butler found the body just after the killer left by the French windows. When you came in a moment later, whereabouts was he standing?

  Sir Charles Who, Tucker?

  Grace enters.

  Grace The baby’s asleep. What are you lot doing?

  Sir Charles Brockett, this is her ladyship. He wants to know how we found Tucker beside Claire’s body.

  Grace Oh, here.

  She stands beside the outline, puts her left foot out and raises both her arms.

  Like the Hokey-Cokey.

  Brockett Why would he be doing anything like the Hokey-Cokey?

  Dinsdale Gurney He was drunk and he had his teeth out.

  Brockett I’d better have another word with Tucker. Run a double check on him, Sergeant.

  Sir Charles Senile old fool should have been booted out years ago. Not the only one you should re-check. What about my nephew?

  Grace (deliberately) You’ve been through a lot, Charles, but I warn you.

  Dinsdale Gurney That’s rather disgraceful, Father.

  Bishop Lampton Uncalled for. Jack’s behaved splendidly.

  Sir Charles I’m not saying he’s involved but . . .

  Grace But. I’ll give you but.

  Brockett We have the medical reports on His Lordship. But if you have something to add –

  Grace Charles isn’t doing this ’cause of what happened to Claire. He’s jealous ’cause I love my husband. Charles and me were lovers! I was this randy old goat’s mistress!

  Bishop Lampton (wailing) Aeeeh. Cleanse your hands, you sinner.

  Sir Charles Madam, you’ll never be a Gurney.

  Grace I’d rather be dead.

  Dinsdale Gurney (stricken) Mother knew, she knew before she died. Father, I have to say this. You’ve proved a big disappointment to me.

  Sir Charles It’s mutual, sir.

  Brockett Does His Lordship know about the relationship, Lady Grace?

  Grace No, and he’s not going to unless somebody blabs. (Looks round at Brockett.) Anyway, it’s none of your business, copper!

  Bishop Lampton Private matters, sir. A gentleman would have left!

  As the family are suddenly conscious again of the two policemen and start yelling at them, the Earl enters, a commanding figure in black carrying a black silver-top cane.

  Earl of Gurney Is this the way to act in the presence of death? (They stop shouting.) Remember where you are and what happened here.

  He pauses by the outline on the floor. Embarrassed, the others clear their throats.

  Bishop Lampton Forgive them, they know not what they do.

  Earl of Gurney Oh, Dinsdale, you should answer those messages of condolence. Even if you don’t feel like it.

  Sir Charles Nonsense. Let ’em wait.

  Dinsdale Gurney You’re right, Jack. Create a good impression. It’ll take my mind off things. Been a bad day for me what with one thing and another.

  He exits upstage centre. Grace moves round beside the Earl.

  Brockett My Lord, there are still a few details I’d like to clear up. On the night of the murder you talked with Lady Claire till eleven-thirty. How was she when you left her?

  Earl of Gurney Unhappy.

  Brockett Why’s that?

  Grace What with one thing and another, she had plenty of reasons, don’t you think.

  Sir Charles Dammit, Brockett, what the devil does it matter how my wife was feeling.

  Brockett You went straight up to bed and heard nothing.

  Earl of Gurney Thought I heard Tucker singing.

  Brockett Hmm, but he said he didn’t leave the kitchen till twelve. Odd. Important question, My Lord. Think hard now. Has anything unusual happened here recently; anything out of the ordinary?

  The Earl thinks, shakes his head.

  Brockett Bishop? Your Ladyship?

  They shake their heads.

  Sir Charles?

  Tucker is heard singing off. Brockett turns swiftly.

  Brockett Get him, Fraser!

  Fraser rushes out upstage centre and reappears dragging Tucker, who is dressed in a striped jacket, bow tie and straw hat; he carries a battered suitcase festooned with foreign labels.

  Tucker What’s the idea? I got a plane to catch.

  Brockett You going somewhere, Tucker?

  Tucker Mr Tucker, flatfoot. Looks like it don’t it. It’s cockles and champagne for yours truly, gay Paree where all the girls say oui oui.

  Grace Bit sudden isn’t it?

  Tucker I’m a creature o’ impulse, Your Ladyship. (Singing melodiously as he shuffles to exit with suitcase.) ‘Goodbye, I wish you all a last . . . g-o-o-d-b-y-e.’

  As he gestures farewell. Fraser pulls him back into the room.

  Brockett You’re not going anywhere, Tucker, me lad. I’ve got questions I want answering.

  Tucker I told you all I know.

  Brockett Have you? . . . Daniel Tucker alias Alexei Kronstadt Communist Party Member Number 243!

  Sir Charles Murdering swine!

  Tucker gives a frightened cry and rushes for the exit upstage centre, but the Earl of Gurney bars the way.

  Tucker Let me pass, let me pass!

  As Fraser pulls Tucker back amid excited shouts, Dinsdale hurries in.

  Dinsdale Gurney What’s going on?

  Grace They say old Jeeves is a Bolshie.

  Earl of Gurney T-U-C-K-E-R. Are you a low-life leveller? An East End agitator?

  Tucker How can I be an agitator? I’ve got a weak chest. (Suddenly defiant.) What if I am? You don’t know what it’s like being a servant, picking up the droppings of these Titled Turds. Everybody has to have secrets. What’s it to you how I spend my leisure time, flatfoot?

  Brockett You’re a suspect in a murder case. You concealed certain facts about yourself. What else are you hiding, Tucker?

  Tucker Suspect? Suspect? I don’t do anything. I just pays me dues to the Party and they send me pamphlets, under plain covers. And every year I get a Christmas card from Mr Palme Dutt.

  Brockett (sticks out leg and raises arms) Why were you standing like this beside the body? EH? EH? You told me you discovered her dead just before the others came back. But his lordship swears he heard you down here in this room, a half-hour earlier.

  Tucker (frightened) You got it wrong, My Lord. I wasn’t here. This is ol’ Tuck, your lordship. (Jigs up and down.) All talk, no action. (Sobbing.) I couldn’t do a crime even if I wanted. Not the type.

  As he takes out a handkerchief to wipe his eyes, a half-dozen silver spoons fall out of his pocket with a clatter.

  Grace Jeeves!

  Sir Charles You brainwashed thug!

  Brockett puts the silverware on a chair and gestures impatiently for Tucker to disgorge.

  Tucker Hope there’s no misunderstanding. Just a few little keepsakes. (Brings out a handful of knives and forks from a bulging pocket.) Mementoes of my 107 happy years with the Gurney family. (Produces complete silver cruet set.) I took ’em for their sentimental value. They call me Mr Softee. (Produces jewel-encrusted snuffbox.) A few worthless trinkets to help keep the memory green when I’m swanning on the Cote de Jour. (Finally adds gold bowl from the
back of his trousers.)

  Brockett You forgotten something?

  Tucker No, that’s the lot. Oh, goodness me . . .

  Removes hat with feigned surprise and takes out a small silver dinner plate hidden in the crown.

  Tell you what, your lordship, I’ll keep these instead of the two weeks’ money you owe me in lieu of notice.

  Dinsdale Gurney I say, look here, Inspector.

  He and Fraser have opened Tucker’s suitcase. All the others move over except the Earl.

  Brockett (bringing out books) Lenin’s Complete Revolutionary. Mao Tse-Tung’s Selected Writings.

  Fraser (discovering pile of photographs) Look at these, sir.

  Brockett (looks at them slowly) Dis-gus-ting . . .

  Shocked gasp from Sir Charles and Dinsdale as they glance over his shoulder. Grace takes a photograph and turns it round and round.

  Grace How the devil did she get into that position.

  Brockett We’ll keep this as evidence.

  Tucker staggers over to the Earl, who stands dark, implacable.

  Tucker Your Lordship, say something fer me. You’re the only one who can help. You always was my favourite, Master Jack. You always was my favourite. (Sobbing.) Before he died the old Earl, s’bless him, said look after that feeble-minded idiot Master Jack fer me, Tuck. I could have gone but I stayed.

  Earl of Gurney If thy hand offends thee, cut it off. Tuck, Tuck, you rot the air with your sexual filth. And there’s an innocent baby upstairs. It was you, spawned out of envy, hate, revenge. You killed her. Oh, Dan, Dan, you dirty old man.

  He lifts Tucker up bodily by his armpits and drops him in front of Brockett.

  Earl of Gurney Take him away, Inspector.

  Brockett Daniel Tucker, I must ask you . . .

  Tucker (at the Earl) Judas Jack Iscariot! You’ve sold me down the sewer, hard-hearted, stony-hearted, like the rest. And I knows s’why. You did it. You and Sir Charles, standing there like a pickled walrus. You Gurneys don’t draw the line at murder. (Suddenly exploding with rage and fear.) Upper-class excrement, you wanna do me dirt ’cause I know too much. I know one per cent of the population owns half the property in England. That vomity ‘one per cent’ needs kosher killing, hung up so the blue blood drains out slow and easy. Aristocratic carcasses hung up like kosher beef drip-drip-drip.