An Inspector Calls and Other Plays

by J. B. Priestley

  REX: It isn’t. I’ve tried it. Stick to the bread and butter.

  [MRS LINDEN is now pouring out; JEAN and MARION are sitting near her; and REX hands bread and butter and cups, etc., and throughout the following speeches they are having tea.]

  MRS LINDEN: Such a shame you couldn’t bring the children, Marion.

  MARION: It really wasn’t possible. And Belle-Mère was quite furious even when I said I’d like to bring them.

  MRS LINDEN: She seems to forget they have another grandmother –

  MARION: No, that’s not fair, Mother, when she and René are always suggesting that you should come and stay. We were talking about it one night last week when Father Honoré was dining with us – he’s really very witty – and – [She breaks off.]

  MRS LINDEN: Yes, dear?

  MARION [shortly]: I’ll tell you later. Don’t let’s bother about it now.

  [MRS LINDEN looks from her to JEAN inquiringly. REX, who misses nothing, takes it up.]

  REX: Marion’s quite right, Mother. Only leads to trouble. She and Jean were at it on the way coming up in the car. And Father Who’s-it is practically a detonator for Jean.

  MRS LINDEN: Well, really, Jean – if Marion wants to talk –

  JEAN: I didn’t stop her. And Rex is exaggerating – as usual.

  MARION [heatedly]: No, he’s not. And if you’re unhappy, Jean – it’s not my fault, is it?

  JEAN [coldly]: Unhappy? I’m not unhappy. What are you talking about?

  MARION: Oh come off it. I’m not one of your hospital patients. Do you think I don’t know you. You’re miserable about something – I don’t know what it is – so you’re taking it out on me – or trying to do – just as you always did –

  MRS LINDEN: Now, Marion, you shouldn’t talk like that.

  MARION: But it’s true, Mother. And as soon as I say anything that reminds her that I’m a Catholic now, she says something hateful and hurting. No, Rex, I’m not going to start arguing all over again. I agree with you – there’s been too much already. I’m simply going to say this. I became a Catholic at first simply for René’s sake. But now I’m more than glad I did. And the more I see of the rest of you – no, not you, Mother – and – of everything here – the more thankful I am that I am a Catholic – and – and have a Faith – and – and belong to a community that may be old-fashioned, as you call it, but is still civilized. [Defiantly to JEAN] Now go on – call me a Fascist again –

  JEAN [coldly]: Why – do you enjoy it?

  MRS LINDEN: Now, stop it, both of you. If this is how you two go on, then I agree with Rex – there mustn’t be any more of it.

  MARION: I’m sorry, Mother. I’ve finished.

  MRS LINDEN: Is there something wrong, Jean? You’re looking – well – rather strained, dear.

  JEAN [curtly]: I’ve been working too hard, that’s all. We’re all overworked at the North Middlesex. And we’re terribly short of nurses – and domestic staff. Short of everything – except patients. Oh – forget it.

  MRS LINDEN: Couldn’t you apply for some easier post somewhere?

  JEAN: Not just now. But I’d like to find something not quite so futile. Half the people we try to patch up might as well be dead – they’re only half alive –

  MARION [heatedly]: I call that wicked – yes, downright wicked –

  JEAN: I wouldn’t call it anything, if I were you, unless you’re prepared to leave your delicious chateau and all your devoted peasants and take night duty for a few months.

  MARION [heatedly]: And that’s –

  REX [cutting in, massively]: Girls, turn it up. We’ve had enough of it. We were asked up here for an urgent family reunion – business and pleasure, I hope. And the Catholic–Communist debate is now closed for the week-end.

  MRS LINDEN: Just what I was going to say, Rex. And Dinah and your father will be back soon –

  REX: How is young Dinah – and why isn’t she here?

  MRS LINDEN: She’s practising with the orchestra this afternoon and nothing would induce her to stay away. She’s very well and happy, really, but still the oddest child you ever knew. More tea, anybody? It isn’t very nice, I know, but poor Mrs Cotton, who likes nothing better than making tea all day long, really hasn’t the least idea how to make it properly.

  JEAN: Most of them haven’t. They can’t do anything properly.

  REX: Don’t care for the masses really, do you, Jeanie?

  JEAN: No, of course not. That’s why I want to see them turned into sensible civilized creatures.

  [The telephone rings. JEAN starts up, but REX, already standing, forestalls her.]

  REX [as he goes]: I’ll answer it. I’m expecting a call. [At telephone] Hello! Yes, it is. Yes – speaking. Go ahead…. Yes, Fraser, Rex Linden here…. Yes, what did he say? … I see, well offer him twenty-five – cash down – as soon as he likes – if he walks straight out of the place, just taking his personal things and any sentimental bits and pieces, and leaves the rest…. Yes, twenty-five thousand – cold cash…. All right, ring me here later.

  [Comes away, looking pleased with himself, takes out cigarette-case, offering it to his mother and MARION, who shake their heads, then to JEAN, who takes one. He lights hers and his during following speeches.]

  MRS LINDEN: What was that about, dear? Some more of your mysterious business?

  REX: No, not really. You remember my telling you about a nice little country place in Hampshire – small manor house with about ten acres, and all the comforts?

  MRS LINDEN [excitedly]: You’re going to buy it?

  REX: You heard me. Twenty-five thousand, lock, stock and barrel. Sir Charles walks out, Mr Rex Linden walks in. I think he’ll take it too, though he’d get far more if he auctioned everything. But he’s in a hurry for the cash – wants to go to Africa.

  MRS LINDEN: But, Rex darling, that’ll be wonderful. And – you know – just at the perfect time. Goodness – I hope you do get it.

  REX: I’ll lay ten to one I do – and tonight too. You’ll see.

  MARION: But – can you afford to put down twenty-five thousand pounds – just like that?

  REX: Yes. And quite a good deal more, ducky. I sound a vulgar type, don’t I? Perhaps I am. It’s a solemn thought.

  MARION: But how do you make all this money, Rex? I don’t understand. What do you do? René was asking me that, the other day.

  REX: I toil not neither do I spin.

  JEAN [dryly]: We know that.

  REX: I live on my wits and gamble with the boys in the City. A kind of racketeer really – free of tax too. A de-luxe model Spiv.

  MRS LINDEN: Darling, nobody knows what you’re talking about.

  JEAN [rising]: I do. And he’s right. What about these tea things?

  MRS LINDEN [rising]: We’ll clear and wash up ourselves – I really can’t ask Mrs Cotton. I wish we could have gone out for dinner tonight, but really it’s hopeless here.

  [They are now moving the trolley or tray and various tea things. As they move through door, front-door bell, not too close, is heard ringing.]

  MRS LINDEN: Rex, would you mind seeing who that is?

  [Stage is empty for a moment or two. Then REX returns with EDITH WESTMORE, a student, about twenty, carrying a cheap little case for books, note-books, etc. She wears spectacles, has untidy hair, rather shabby wrong clothes, but is not altogether unattractive and must not be grotesque or comic. She has a provincial accent, which must not be overdone, and has a strained manner, a mixture of shyness and defiance. Her general effect is likeable but rather pathetic. REX’s manner with her has more charm than his lines might suggest.]

  REX: You’ll have to wait, I’m afraid. My father isn’t back yet, though I gather he’s expected at any moment.

  EDITH: Yes, I was at his lecture. I – we – well, there’s another student too – we always see him at this time every Friday – we write an essay for him every week –

  REX [smiling]: I know. Explain the Thirty Years War. Do sit down.

>   [She does. He remains standing.]

  Good lecture?

  EDITH [with enthusiasm]: Oh – yes. Wonderful. He makes it all seem so clear – and so exciting – and it’s hard to take notes – and then afterwards – somehow – [She hesitates.]

  REX: You can’t remember a dam’ thing.

  EDITH: How do you know?

  REX: I was a history student once. [Produces his cigarette-case, a very expensive one.] Have a cigarette while you’re waiting.

  EDITH [hesitating]: Oh – well – thank you.

  [Takes one. He offers her a light. She smokes rather awkwardly. He looks at her quizzically.]

  REX: You’re using the wrong shade of lipstick, y’know.

  EDITH [helplessly]: Oh – am I? Yes – I expect I am.

  REX: You need a darker shade. Do you mind my talking like this?

  EDITH [rather dubiously]: No – not really. It’s a bit – embarrassing – of course. You live in London, don’t you?

  REX: Yes, I’m a West End type now.

  EDITH: Well, I haven’t much time – to make myself look nice. And no money. I have a scholarship – and you can only just live on it, if you don’t expect help from home – and I don’t.

  [As he continues to regard her impersonally]

  Well – what else is wrong? You seem a bit of an expert.

  REX: I am. Now – suppose you take off your glasses –

  [She does.]

  and then pull your hair back – and then up – let me take your cigarette – no, not quite like that – farther back – then up –

  [He does, then, following his instructions, she pulls her hair back in a much more becoming fashion. She now looks quite different, quite attractive, and smiles at him uncertainly.]

  Makes a tremendous difference. You’d be surprised. Now any sensible young man would want to kiss you.

  [She does not react to this, but still holds her face up, smiling uncertainly.]

  I mean more or less – like this.

  [He bends down and kisses her, neatly and warmly but not passionately. When he steps back again, she releases her hair, gives a queer choking little sob, turns her face away, and fumbles for a handkerchief.]

  Oh I say. This is all wrong. I didn’t mean –

  EDITH [cutting in, chokingly]: No, it’s not you…. I didn’t mind … it’s something quite different … suddenly I felt so miserable … as if everything is so hopeless … oh where’s my rotten handkerchief?

  REX [offering his]: Take mine.

  [She does, and dabs at her eyes.]

  Why should you suddenly feel miserable – as if everything was hopeless?

  EDITH [brokenly]: I don’t know – I’m a silly fool – it’s all so muddled up –

  REX: Never mind. What’s the essay about this week?

  EDITH [still weepily]: Charles the Fifth.

  REX: Here, try the cigarette again.

  [Gives it to her. She puts it in her mouth and now puts her glasses on again.]

  Do you care about Charles the Fifth?

  EDITH [rather desperately]: No, I’ve tried – and Professor Linden’s so kind – and I must do well – they’re all expecting me to, at home – and my essay is so dull and stupid –

  REX [softly]: I’ll tell you a secret about Charles the Fifth, if you promise not to mention it to my father.

  EDITH [a mess of smoking, half crying and laughing]: All right. What is it?

  REX: Charles the Fifth doesn’t matter a sausage. I haven’t thought about him for years, and I’m having a hell of a good time.

  EDITH: Yes, but it’s different for you. There’s no money at home – and I only just managed to get this scholarship –

  REX: You stop worrying, and make the best of yourself and of everything else. What’s your name?

  EDITH: Edith Westmore.

  REX: Well, Edith, that’s my advice to you. Start living. There isn’t much time.

  EDITH: Isn’t much time for what?

  REX: For anything. And none for Charles the Fifth. He had his share. We’d better take ours while we can.

  EDITH: It’s all right talking like that. But I believe you’re just making fun of me.

  REX: I’m not. Never was more serious in my life. I tell you, there isn’t much time.

  [There is a pause, while she looks at him dubiously and he stares quite sombrely at her. Then DINAH enters, carrying a’ cello case and a pile of music and books. She is eighteen, and a young eighteen, and a very clear eager personality, quite different from anybody else in the play, as if she belonged to another race.]

  DINAH: Rex!

  REX [who is clearly fond of her]: Hello, Dinah! [He goes up, kisses her on the cheek and rumples her hair, already untidy.]

  DINAH: Sorry I wasn’t here when you came – did you bring Jean and Marion –?

  REX: Yes.

  DINAH: Good. Well, I just had to go to orchestra practice.

  REX: And how was it?

  DINAH: Gosh! – we were awful. [She now notices EDITH.] Hello!

  EDITH [subdued]: Hello!

  DINAH: Isn’t Daddy back yet? I think he’s trying to buy some sherry. It’s his birthday today and we’re having a sort of family gathering.

  EDITH: Perhaps I’d better go.

  DINAH: I shouldn’t, now you’re here. Hang on a bit. Yes, we were quite peculiarly awful this afternoon. Were you ever in the orchestra, Rex?

  REX: Yes, I played the triangle and the tambourine one term – about the time of the Great Depression. What is it murdering now?

  DINAH: Dvorak’s New World. And this afternoon we got all the parts boxed up, and one time Mary Stockfield – that’s the other ’cello – and I were playing the third movement when everybody else had gone back to the first. I thought it sounded rather interesting – a bit like Bartok – but old Nubby, who’s our conductor, hated it and danced with rage. How are Jean and Marion?

  REX: Inclined to be quarrelsome types. Partly ideology. In the car it was like giving a lift to Thomas Aquinas and Lenin. And then for a bonus you have to add feminine sniffiness and odd jealousies. They’re much better apart, those girls.

  DINAH: I must go and talk to them. I hope you brought Daddy a lovely present. After all, you’re the rich one in this family.

  REX: I am and I did. A case of pipes – very special. Took a lot of finding, let me tell you –

  DINAH [who is still near door]: Sh! I think he’s here. [Opens door and calls] Daddy, they’re here.

  REX [going towards door, calling]: And this is me – Rex. [Goes out, leaving door open.

  [DINAH smiles at EDITH, who rises rather nervously.]

  EDITH: I’m sure he won’t want to bother with me tonight.

  DINAH: Well, you can see – though it is all rather special tonight. Doesn’t that gloomy boy usually come with you on Fridays?

  EDITH: Yes. Bernard Fawcett. I don’t know what’s happened to him.

  DINAH: Just brooding somewhere, I expect. Well, I must go and see my sisters. Haven’t seen them for ages.

  [EDITH takes her essay out of her case, still standing up. Then PROFESSOR LINDEN comes in. He is carelessly dressed but has a certain distinction. He looks his age and is obviously rather tired, yet there is a kind of youthfulness about him.]

  PROFESSOR: Hello, Dinah! Good rehearsal?

  DINAH: Awful!

  [DINAH exits.]

  PROFESSOR: I hope you haven’t been waiting long, Miss Westmore. I hadn’t forgotten, but I was held up. Do sit down. Where’s Fawcett?

  EDITH [sitting down]: I don’t know, Professor Linden. I haven’t seen him this afternoon.

  PROFESSOR [filling a pipe]: Well, we’ll have to do without him.

  EDITH: Professor Linden, I thought – perhaps – as all your family are here – you probably wouldn’t want to bother about us tonight.

  PROFESSOR: No, no. But I won’t keep you long, if you don’t mind. Is that your paper? Thank you.

  [She hands it over. He lights his pipe before looking a
t it, sitting on edge of arm-chair.]

  EDITH [timidly]: Can I say – Many Happy Returns –?

  PROFESSOR [smiling]: You can – and thank you very much. Sixty-five, you know. I ought to feel something special, and I’ve been trying all day and can’t manage it. The last time I felt something quite definite was when I was forty – and I’ve never felt quite so old since. Now then – [He begins skimming through the essay with a practised eye, then breaks off to take up a portfolio and hand it to her.] You’ll find some reproductions of old Peter Breughel in there. Have a look at ’em. He’s a great favourite of mine. Earthy and elfish at the same time. Real life but with bits of magic starting to work. Look at the Winter and the Summer and the peasants boozing and romping.

  [As she does, there is a knock.

  Come in.

  [BERNARD FAWCETT enters. He is a rather dour, aggressive youth, who has a cold. He is shabbily dressed and carries some books.]

  FAWCETT [thick and sniffy]: I’m sorry I’m late. I went to the chemist’s and couldn’t get served.

  PROFESSOR: I was late myself. And I’ll have to cut you short tonight, I’m afraid. A family reunion here. Let’s have your essay – and sit down.

  [FAWCETT hands over his paper, and sits down. PROFESSOR now glances quickly at this one, as he did at EDITH’s. After a moment or two of this, he glances at FAWCETT.]

  Dull, isn’t it? [Waving paper.]

  FAWCETT: I expect it is. When I have a cold I can’t get interested somehow.

  PROFESSOR: Miss Westmore couldn’t either. All a long way off – and who cares?

  EDITH [looking up]: I’m sorry, Professor Linden.

  PROFESSOR: How do you like those Breughels? Fascinating, aren’t they?

  EDITH: Yes – but I’d like to look at them a long time.

  PROFESSOR: You can, if you like. Take ’em away with you. But the point is – that man was one of Charles the Fifth’s subjects. And, allowing for old Breughel’s temperament, you have to see Charles against that sort of background. Makes a difference, doesn’t it?

  EDITH [impressed]: Why – yes – somehow I never thought –

  PROFESSOR: No, you saw it as a lot of dim stuff in a book to be mugged up this week for old Linden. So did Fawcett. Didn’t you, Fawcett? With real life roaring all round you. Tell me – weren’t you two both mixed up in that recent row about girl students at the Union?