Mary Shelley

by Helen Edmundson

  SHELLEY. But an audience doesn’t want an actor to bludgeon them about the the head like that.

  JANE. He was loud, I agree, but he was very imposing. Isn’t that what the character required?

  SHELLEY. He certainly imposed upon me – for two and a half hours.

  JANE (laughing). You’re terrible.

  SHELLEY. We’d better be quiet.

  JANE. Yes.

  JANE suddenly catches sight of MARY and lets out a little shriek.

  Oh, Mary. You gave me such a fright!

  SHELLEY. What’s wrong?

  MARY. She’s dead.

  MARY’s gaze moves to a chair, where she has left the swaddled baby. SHELLEY walks over to the chair, and kneeling down, touches the baby’s face.

  I went to wake her for her last feed, and she was like that.

  SHELLEY. Oh, no.

  MARY. I don’t know why. She had been so happy today.

  JANE (approaching SHELLEY). Are you sure she’s...? I mean...?

  SHELLEY. Jane, no. No. She’s gone.

  SHELLEY goes to MARY and puts his arms around her.

  MARY. I’m sorry.

  SHELLEY sobs.

  Scene Ten

  Late evening. The parlour. Skinner Street. Outside, a thunder storm is raging. FANNY arrives home. She is soaked to the skin, and exhausted. GODWIN enters from his study.

  GODWIN. Could they not have put you in a carriage?

  FANNY. I was wet when I arrived there. It made no difference. Besides, they have just as little money as we do.

  GODWIN. I’m sure Shelley could run to the cost of a carriage.

  FANNY. Shelley wasn’t there.

  GODWIN. Oh?

  FANNY. He’s had to stay away from the house for a few days. One of his creditors isn’t prepared to wait. There’s a warrant out for his arrest.

  GODWIN. I see.

  FANNY. He and Mary have been meeting in the cathedral.

  GODWIN. Sanctuary.

  FANNY. Yes. It’s a terrible shame. Just when she has such need of him. I told her she should speak to the creditor and explain what’s happened. Surely he would show a little compassion?

  GODWIN. The world does not stop turning because of the death of one child. Nor should it.

  FANNY looks at him in dismay. MRS GODWIN enters.

  MRS GODWIN. So, you’re back then.

  FANNY. Yes.

  MRS GODWIN. Couldn’t they have put you in a carriage?

  FANNY. I didn’t mind.

  MRS GODWIN. I don’t know why you had to go in the first place. She’s got Jane to comfort her.

  FANNY. She asked for me. She wanted me. I should have gone days ago.

  MRS GODWIN. And how is madam?

  FANNY. Oh, please don’t do that!

  MRS GODWIN. I beg your pardon?

  FANNY. Mary is... coping. She’s sad. Bereft. But she’s trying very hard. She’s reading Shakespeare, Papa. Just like you always do when things are... dreadful. Papa, please, please go and see her.

  MRS GODWIN. Oh, you silly girl.

  FANNY. It would mean so much to her. Or write to her at least. If you could only see how bewildered she is... how shocked...

  MRS GODWIN. And that’s supposed to be our fault, is it?

  FANNY. They have done so much to make amends. Taken on our debts...

  GODWIN. Please be quiet.

  FANNY. I’m sorry. It’s just...

  FANNY does not dare to go on.

  MRS GODWIN. Of course, there are some would say that they brought this on themselves. With their sinfulness.

  FANNY. Who would say that?

  MRS GODWIN. Some would say it is God’s punishment.

  GODWIN. Please do not introduce hocus-pocus into the equation.

  MRS GODWIN. I’m only saying what others will say.

  GODWIN. Go and change out of those wet things, Fanny. The last thing we need is for you to catch a cold.

  FANNY leaves.

  Scene Eleven

  Night. The lodgings. The storm is still overhead. MARY, alone on the daybed, is dreaming. The book she was reading has fallen from her hands.

  She dreams that SHELLEY is there, with the baby’s body in his arms.

  SHELLEY. Quickly, Mary. Come closer to the fire. We must make her warm.

  MARY goes to him. They crouch by the fire.

  We can bring her back to life.

  MARY. Can we?

  SHELLEY. We can breathe the life back into her. Breathe on her, like this.

  They begin to breathe over the baby’s body.

  Look – she’s stirring. Life and death are nothing, Mary. They are the same.

  MARY. She’s breathing. Clara? Clara? Clara?

  MARY wakes up suddenly.

  Clara?

  She realises that she has been dreaming. She begins to cry. JANE comes out of the bedroom and sees her.

  She goes to her and puts her arms around her.

  JANE. Oh, don’t, Mary. Don’t cry.

  Scene Twelve

  A graveyard. It’s snowing. MARY and SHELLEY are muffled up against the cold. They stand, hand in hand, looking down at the baby’s grave. It is marked by a small, simple headstone.

  MARY (reading). ‘Clara Shelley.’

  SHELLEY. It’s all I could afford. Is it all right?

  MARY. Yes. Yes. Of course it is. What else is there to say?

  Pause.

  SHELLEY. Mary, I got a letter from my father’s lawyer today. It seems my grandfather has died.

  MARY. Your grandfather? I’m so sorry.

  SHELLEY. My father inherits the estate, of course. But he wants to come to an arrangement with me – a financial arrangement. Mary, it means we will soon have money. As much money as we need.

  MARY. I see.

  SHELLEY. And I can help so many people. Do so much good.

  MARY. Yes.

  SHELLEY. I can help your father. And Harriet – she needs more money for the children.

  MARY. Yes.

  SHELLEY. I’ve been thinking: we should go abroad. Leave England. Or at least make plans to. It will be some time before the money is mine.

  MARY. How long?

  SHELLEY. Two months? Three? But as soon as we have it, we should go and live somewhere beautiful. Somewhere inspiring. Away from all the distractions and the disapproval.

  MARY. Somewhere we can write.

  SHELLEY. Yes. Yes.

  MARY. What about Jane?

  SHELLEY. I thought Jane could come with us. Mary darling, it isn’t good for two people to be always together. Forced in upon each other...

  MARY. You make it sound like a form of torture.

  SHELLEY. We should take whoever wants to come. And we will meet people there, I’m sure. We will form a community of like-minded people.

  MARY. Then tell Jane your heart is mine. Your heart is mine alone. Make her understand that.

  SHELLEY. I will then. Because it’s true.

  Let’s walk home through the snow.

  MARY. Yes.

  They leave the graveyard. GODWIN suddenly walks into view. MARY sees him and turns pale.

  (Quietly.) My father.

  GODWIN, closer now, sees them and stops.

  SHELLEY. Godwin. This is a fortuitous...

  GODWIN walks past them, without looking at them. He is gone.

  MARY. My father...

  End of Act Three.

  ACT FOUR

  Scene One

  A hot, late-summer’s day. GODWIN’s study. Skinner Street. Sun is pouring through the windows. GODWIN enters. He has been out, and is very hot and exhausted. He sits down and puts down the newspaper he is carrying. He loosens his collar, wipes the sweat from his brow. FANNY hurries in.

  FANNY. Papa?

  GODWIN. This summer seems to be going on forever.

  FANNY. Are you unwell?

  GODWIN. A little, perhaps.

  FANNY pours him a glass of water from a carafe.

  Thank you.

  It seems I am a r
adical designed for moderate climates.

  FANNY waits until he has recovered a little.

  FANNY. Did you see my aunts?

  GODWIN. Yes. We had an hour together.

  FANNY. Are they going to come here?

  GODWIN. Sit down, Fanny.

  She does so. She stares at him, expectantly.

  Fanny... your aunts are no longer prepared to have you at the school in Dublin.

  FANNY. Why?

  GODWIN. I’m sure you can imagine why. They read the newspapers like everybody else. They have read about your sisters’ latest exploits with Lord Byron in Switzerland. They are very angry. They believe, with some justification, that the family connection is damaging their school’s reputation.

  FANNY. But surely they don’t believe those reports? You don’t believe them?

  GODWIN. I don’t know what to believe.

  FANNY. I have had several letters from Mary. They have made Lord Byron’s acquaintance – that much is true. They happen to have taken villas close to each other. It would be strange if they had not become friends. But anything else is simply scurrilous gossip. The newspapers will say anything about Lord Byron...

  GODWIN. And about Shelley. And about your sisters, it appears. (Taking up the newspaper.) There is another tale in here today. A gentleman has returned from travelling in the Alps, to say that ‘he saw Lord Byron being rowed across a lake in Geneva, dressed in flowing robes, like a latter-day Caesar, and with those two wicked women dancing attendance upon him.’ They do not give your sisters’ names. They content themselves with saying that they are my daughters – ‘daughters of the infamous radical, William Godwin.’

  FANNY. But it’s nonsense. It must be. They probably simply went for a row on the lake. People see what they want to see.

  GODWIN. Your aunts have accepted that Mary has entered into a liaison, albeit unconventional, with Shelley. They seem more concerned about Jane. Her position is certainly more spurious. They wanted an assurance that I would never allow Jane to return to this house.

  FANNY. But why would Jane return here? Even if she does, it won’t be for months – years perhaps.

  GODWIN. On the contrary, I think they will return to England in the very near future. According to my lawyer, Shelley is being urgently petitioned to return. He needs to be here to conclude the dealings with his father. It was madness for them to leave when they did. If Jane were to ask to return here, I would not be able to refuse her. For Mrs Godwin’s sake.

  Pause.

  Your aunts’ is not the only school. We could consider placing you elsewhere.

  FANNY. Where? Who would have me?

  GODWIN. I will make enquiries. Please give it some consideration.

  FANNY. I know I must find the means to pay my way. As Mama says, you cannot support me forever.

  GODWIN. I will support you for as long as it takes.

  Now. Shall we have some tea?

  FANNY stands.

  New dress, is it?

  FANNY. It’s one of Mary’s old ones. I wanted to look tidy – for my aunts.

  GODWIN. It looks very well on you.

  FANNY. It suited Mary better.

  Scene Two

  Two months later. The drawing room of SHELLEY’s house in Bath. It is a bright, airy room, filled with fine furniture. MARY is sitting at a desk, writing.

  SHELLEY (off). Mary!

  MARY. Here!

  SHELLEY rushes in.

  SHELLEY. Mary...

  MARY. You’re back. And sooner than I’d hoped.

  SHELLEY (kissing her). Hello, my darling.

  MARY. How did you fare? What did the lawyer say?

  SHELLEY. I’ll tell you all about it soon. But first I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes.

  MARY. What sort of a surprise?

  SHELLEY. Close your eyes. Something I found on the street.

  MARY closes her eyes. SHELLEY beckons to FANNY to enter. She does so. She is dressed for travelling and carries a small bag.

  MARY. Oh, no. It’s not a dog, or a cat, is it? We can’t...

  SHELLEY. Open them.

  MARY opens her eyes and sees FANNY.

  MARY. Fanny! Fanny...

  FANNY. Hello, Mary dear.

  MARY rushes to her and they embrace.

  MARY. My darling, darling girl. But what are you doing in Bath?

  FANNY. I hope you don’t mind. You said I should come and visit.

  MARY. How did you get here?

  FANNY. The stagecoach. I travelled overnight. It’s not so very far from London.

  SHELLEY. I was on my way home in the carriage, and I saw this figure standing in the square by the Pump House, looking about as though she had landed on a distant planet. And then I thought – that’s a very familiar figure.

  FANNY. I would have found the right street eventually.

  MARY. My dear girl. Sit down, you must be exhausted.

  SHELLEY. If only I’d known – you could have travelled with me.

  FANNY. I didn’t know you were in London.

  MARY. He’s there far too often at the moment.

  FANNY. Where’s the new baby? I’m longing to see him.

  MARY. He’s asleep. We can’t wake him. Nurse would be livid. It took her an age to get him down. He hates to sleep.

  SHELLEY. You shall see him as soon as he’s awake. He’s beautiful.

  MARY. He looks like his father.

  SHELLEY. Like his mother.

  MARY. We call him Wilmouse. Did I tell you that in my letter?

  FANNY. No.

  SHELLEY. He’s a soft, downy, curious creature.

  MARY. You’ll adore him. And he’ll adore you.

  FANNY. And he’s well? Quite well?

  MARY. Yes. He is.

  FANNY. I’m so glad for you.

  MARY takes her hand.

  MARY. I can’t believe you’re real.

  FANNY. What a lovely house this is.

  SHELLEY. We were lucky to find it at short notice. We’ve taken it for three months.

  MARY. We have servants, can you believe it?

  SHELLEY. Well-paid servants, I should add, who have two days off a week.

  FANNY. Of course.

  MARY. And we brought William’s nurse with us from Switzerland. And I’m managing to get lots of work done.

  SHELLEY. Mary’s writing a novel.

  FANNY. Good.

  SHELLEY. It’s exceptional. It’s going to astonish the world.

  MARY. There’s still a lot of work to do.

  SHELLEY. And I’m writing another poem. It’s almost finished.

  FANNY. I’m glad you’re both writing. It’s what you ought to do.

  So you don’t mean to stay in Bath for long?

  MARY. No. We shall go back to Geneva as soon as we can. We love it there.

  FANNY. Yes. Your letters have been making me quite jealous.

  SHELLEY. A few more meetings with the lawyers and we shall be gone. I hope your father got the cheque I sent to him last week?

  FANNY. Yes. He did. Thank you.

  SHELLEY. Once things have been properly settled, I will be able to give him a more substantial sum.

  FANNY. I’m afraid he couldn’t cash the cheque.

  SHELLEY. Oh?

  FANNY. You... made it out to him. His name. Perhaps you’ve forgotten – he can’t be seen to be accepting money from you. Not with...

  SHELLEY. Ah.

  FANNY. If you could make a cheque out to his lawyer, then he...

  SHELLEY. Yes. Of course.

  MARY. So much for honest transactions.

  FANNY. I’m sorry. We do really need the money...

  SHELLEY. I shall send a cheque to his lawyer.

  FANNY. Thank you.

  MARY. So how are things at Skinner Street?

  FANNY. I don’t want to talk about Skinner Street. Not now. If you don’t mind?

  How’s Jane? Where is she?

  MARY and SHELLEY glance at each other.

  SHELLE
Y. I... think...

  MARY. She’s lying down.

  SHELLEY. I’ll go and fetch her, shall I, Mary?

  MARY. Yes. She’ll want to know that Fanny’s here.

  SHELLEY. And I’ll look in on William. I’ll make as much noise as I can.

  He leaves.

  FANNY. It’s wonderful to see you so happy.

  MARY. There’s something I should tell you about Claire – Jane. She’s having a baby. That’s partly why we came to Bath and not to London. No one must know. Not yet, at least.

  FANNY. You aren’t serious?

  MARY. There’s no need for anyone to make a fuss about it. It’s perfectly natural.

  FANNY. Whose is it? Is it his? Is it Shelley’s?

  MARY. Shelley’s? No. Why on earth would you say that? The father is...

  FANNY. Is it Lord Byron?

  MARY. Yes.

  FANNY. Oh, my God...

  MARY. It was... unexpected. But it has happened. It’s happening. We’re glad. Another addition to our family.

  FANNY. When... will it be born?

  MARY. Around Christmas time, we think.

  She met Lord Byron in London. Before we even went to Geneva. I don’t know what possessed her – well, I do. She wrote to him at Drury Lane. His play was being performed there. She said she wanted to become an actress – as though she isn’t an actress already. She begged him to help her. She went to see him. Met him in one of the dressing rooms. Anyway... she introduced us to him. He adores Shelley, as you can imagine. They argue – but they love to argue. When Byron said he was going to Geneva, we decided to go too. We had been planning to go abroad.

  It’s sad, in a way. When he found out about the baby, he was horrified. He doesn’t care for Claire. He doesn’t even like her. He treats her with contempt. Plays tricks on her. Makes her a fool.

  JANE enters.

  JANE. Fanny! Dearest sister! What a wonderful surprise.

  FANNY. Hello...

  JANE. And now you know my surprise. Isn’t it thrilling? Has Mary told you who the father is?

  FANNY. Yes.

  JANE. You see – she has her poet and now I have mine. Isn’t it funny? And mine is the most notorious poet in the whole world! But you mustn’t tell Mama. Or Papa. We shall tell them when the time is right. Shan’t we, Mary? How is Mama? As dreadful as ever, I suppose?

  FANNY. I... I don’t know.

  JANE. You don’t know? Haven’t you come from Skinner Street?

  FANNY (standing). I think I should go.