Delphi Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (Illustrated)

by William Somerset Maugham

  Lady Wanley.

  [Smiling to Rosie.] My dear, what are you doing in this sink of iniquity? I am surprised to see you. And Lewis!

  [She shakes hands, evidently delighted to see them.

  Withers.

  We’ve brought them up to London for a little jaunt.

  Holland.

  Won’t you all sit at our table? There’s plenty of room.

  Withers.

  That’s very kind of you. [To his wife.] Fanny, you know Mr. Holland.

  Mrs. Withers.

  Yes, of course I do. How do you do, Lady Wanley.

  Lady Wanley.

  How do you do? Now you two young things must sit one on each side of me, and you must tell me all about Taverner.

  Rosie.

  Oh, we’re so happy there, and everything’s beautiful, and we just love the house.

  Lady Wanley.

  I don’t believe you know Mr. Holland. Ambrose, this is Rosie, Jasper Neville’s daughter. You knew him well, didn’t you?

  Holland.

  Of course I did.

  Lady Wanley.

  And this is Rosie’s husband and my new Vicar at Taverner.

  Abbott.

  It makes me feel awfully grand.

  Lady Wanley.

  I adore them both, so you must like them. These dear things were waiting to be married. Lewis was a curate in some dreadfully shabby suburb, and he’s a saint.

  Abbott.

  I wish you wouldn’t say such absurd things about me.

  Lady Wanley.

  Nonsense. He’s a saint, but quite a modern nice sort of saint, who plays cricket and doesn’t wear a hair shirt. And of course he couldn’t marry Rosie, who hadn’t a penny to bless herself with, but Providence came to the rescue and carried off our old Vicar with influenza.

  Rosie.

  What dreadful things you say, Lady Wanley!

  Lady Wanley.

  And the living’s in my gift, so I gave it to them, and there they are.

  Rosie.

  You have been nice to us.

  Lady Wanley.

  My dears, you’re the only really good people I’ve ever known in my life. I used to think my boys were till they went to Eton, and now I know they’re devils.

  Withers.

  We’re all under a debt of gratitude to you, Lady Wanley. Every one worships them in the parish.

  Abbott.

  Every one’s been very jolly, and they all try to make things easy for us.

  Mrs. Withers.

  You know, they will work so hard, we could hardly persuade them to come up to London for two or three days.

  Withers.

  I daresay you’ve heard that we’ve taken a little place near Taverner.

  Holland.

  Lady Wanley was telling me at luncheon.

  Lady Wanley.

  [To Rosie.] And are you enjoying yourself in London, darling?

  Rosie.

  [Enthusiastically.] Oh, it’s simply splendid. You don’t know what a treat it is to us to come to the Grand Babylon. It makes us feel so smart. And to-night we’re going to the Gaiety.

  Lady Wanley.

  [To Withers.] It’s very nice of you to be so good to these young people.

  Mrs. Withers.

  It’s a pleasure to us to see how they enjoy everything.

  Rosie.

  D’you know the Parker-Jennings are here? Isn’t it nice? They will be surprised when they see us, won’t they, Lewis?

  Mrs. Withers.

  [With a little sniff.] I see Maria Jennings has got a lord with her.

  Holland.

  Serlo, isn’t it? I thought I saw him.

  Withers.

  I suppose you know they’re trying to hook him for Ethel?

  Lady Wanley.

  Good heavens!

  Mrs. Withers.

  [With a shrug of the shoulders.] As long as he’s a Marquess, and he’s that all right, Maria Jennings don’t mind the rest.

  Lady Wanley.

  I hope Ethel will refuse to have anything to do with him.

  Rosie.

  She’s a dear, isn’t she? I’m so fond of her, and she’s simply devoted to Lewis.

  Lady Wanley.

  My dear, do you never say anything against any one?

  Rosie.

  [With a laugh.] Seldom. Everybody’s so nice.

  Lady Wanley.

  It must make conversation very difficult. But Ethel is a charming girl, and I shouldn’t like her to fall into the hands of that disgraceful young rip.

  Mrs. Withers.

  She’s the only one of the family who hasn’t had her head turned by all the money.

  Lady Wanley.

  Of course you knew Mrs. Jennings before she was the exalted person she is now.

  Mrs. Withers.

  Bless you, I’ve known her all my life. We went to the Brixton High School together, and I was a bridesmaid at her wedding. Why, we used to be popping in and out of one another’s houses all day long.

  Withers.

  And now, if you please, she’ll hardly look at us.

  Abbott.

  I’m afraid people don’t much like her at Taverner, but she’s done everything she could for us, and they’re awfully generous.

  Rosie.

  I don’t care what anybody says about her, she’s been perfectly sweet to me. She told me that I might come to the Hall whenever I wanted to, and I’m always dropping in to lunch there.

  Lady Wanley.

  Oh well, if they’re nice to you, I forgive them. Mrs. Jennings can cut me till she’s blue in the face.

  Rosie.

  Oh look, there’s the Count.

  [A distinguished-looking old man comes out of the restaurant and walks slowly down the steps.

  Lady Wanley.

  It’s Adrian von Bremer. How on earth d’you know him?

  Rosie.

  I don’t, but he’s rented a place in Cheshire, and he came to church once.

  Lady Wanley.

  It’s the Pomeranian Ambassador, you know.

  Mrs. Withers.

  I know him well by sight.

  Lady Wanley.

  I wish he’d come and talk to us. I should like to introduce Lewis to him.

  Holland.

  He’s as blind as a bat. I don’t suppose he’ll see us.

  [Meanwhile Von Bremer has reflectively put an eyeglass in his eye, and looks round as he walks out. He catches sight of Lady Wanley, and smiling, comes up to her.

  Von Bremer.

  How do you do.

  Holland.

  You look as if you were just going.

  Von Bremer.

  I am. I had my coffee in the restaurant.

  Lady Wanley.

  What is the news in Pomerania?

  Von Bremer.

  None except that our Emperor is growing old. All these domestic troubles of his are breaking him down.

  Lady Wanley.

  Poor old thing.

  Holland.

  I suppose nothing has been heard of the Archduke Sebastian?

  Von Bremer.

  Nothing. We’ve given up the search.

  Holland.

  [To Lady Wanley.] You remember that affair, don’t you? There was some quarrel in the domestic circle, and the Archduke Sebastian suddenly disappeared — four years ago, now, isn’t it? — and hasn’t been heard of since. He simply vanished into thin air.

  Lady Wanley.

  But how do you know he’s alive?

  Von Bremer.

  Every Christmas the Emperor receives a letter from him, sent from different parts of the world, saying he’s well and happy.

  Lady Wanley.

  It’s really very romantic. I wonder what on earth he’s doing.

  Von Bremer.

  Heaven only knows.

  Lady Wanley.

  Tell me, how is that nice young attaché of yours that I met at luncheon the other day.

  Von Bremer.

  The
nice young attaché has come to a bad end. I’ve had to send him back to Pomerania.

  Lady Wanley.

  Really?

  Von Bremer.

  The story is rather entertaining. There’s an American woman here who has a passion for titles, and it occurred to my attaché one day to introduce his valet to her as Count So-and-So. Of course she was full of attentions and immediately asked the valet to dinner. Presently the story came to my ears. I really couldn’t have my attachés playing practical jokes of that sort, and so I sent him home.

  Lady Wanley.

  Poor boy, he was so nice.

  Von Bremer.

  Good-bye.

  Lady Wanley.

  Oh, may I introduce Mr. Abbott to you. He’s your new Vicar at Taverner. And this is Mrs. Abbott. You must be very nice to her.

  Von Bremer.

  I’m delighted to meet you. I’ve heard wonderful stories of your good works in the parish.

  Abbott.

  It’s very kind of you to say so.

  Von Bremer.

  [To Rosie.] If you will allow me I should like to call on you when I come down to Cheshire.

  Rosie.

  I shall be so pleased to see you.

  Von Bremer.

  Good-bye.

  [He bows and goes out.

  Rosie.

  Wasn’t it nice of him to say he’d call? You know, he never goes anywhere.

  Withers.

  I can see Mrs. Jennings’ face when she hears that the Count has been to see you, my dear.

  Holland.

  Why do you say that?

  Mrs. Withers.

  The Count lives next door to them in the country, and they’ve moved heaven and earth to know him, but he simply won’t look at them. Maria would give her eyes if he’d call on her.

  Rosie.

  How can you say such horrid things about her!

  [During the last two or three speeches Mr. and Mrs. Parker-Jennings come down the steps, followed by Ethel, Vincent and Serlo. Serlo goes over to talk to a flashily dressed girl at another table. Parker-Jennings is a little stoutish man, very common and self-assertive. His wife is of a determined appearance, vulgar, and magnificently dressed. Vincent is showy and aggressive. Ethel is very charming and very pretty. Serlo is quite insignificant. Mrs. Parker-Jennings comes down the centre of the stage, with her party, elaborately ignoring Lady Wanley’s table. Rosie gets up and goes to her impulsively. Mrs. Withers and her husband rise.

  Rosie.

  Mrs. Jennings, I am so glad to see you.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  [Frigidly putting up her glasses.] Mrs. Abbott.

  Withers.

  Hullo, Bob, old man, how are the chicks?

  Parker-Jennings.

  We’re all in the best of ‘ealth, thank you.

  Ethel.

  [Shaking hands with Mrs. Withers.] I was hoping we should have a chance of speaking to you.

  Mrs. Withers.

  What a picture you look, my dear! What’s the matter with Vincent? Why are you trying to look as if you’d never seen me before?

  Vincent.

  You’ll never allow me to forget you, Mrs. Withers.

  Mrs. Withers.

  No, I won’t. And many’s the time I’ve bathed you, my lad, in that little back room in St. John’s Road, Brixton, and don’t you forget that either.

  Rosie.

  [Enthusiastically to Mrs. Parker-Jennings.] Aren’t you surprised to see us here? Mr. and Mrs. Withers are giving us such a treat.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  I shouldn’t ‘ave thought this quite the place for a clergyman’s wife to come to. I confess I’m surprised you should find time to leave your work at Taverner in order to gad about in London.

  [Rosie is taken aback by the snub, and her face falls.

  Rosie.

  But we’re only here for a day or two. We shall be home on Thursday. I was wondering if I might come up to luncheon as Lewis has got to go out.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  I’m expecting Lord Serlo’s mother and Lady Eleanor King to stay with me, so perhaps you’d better not come up to the ‘all for a few days. I’m sure you understand, don’t you. I don’t want to ‘urt your feelings, but I don’t think you’re quite the sort of person they’d like to meet.

  [Rosie gives a little gasp.

  Ethel.

  [Indignantly.] Mother.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  I’ll let you know when it’s convenient for you to call. I’m afraid you’re a little inclined to be pushing, my dear. You don’t mind my telling you, do you? It’s not quite the correct thing in a clergyman’s wife.

  [She turns her back on Rosie, who is left gasping. She tries to choke her sobs, but tears of mortification roll down her cheeks.

  Lady Wanley.

  Oh, the cad, the cad.

  [She makes Rosie sit down and comforts her.

  Ethel.

  Mother, how could you.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  Hold your tongue, Ethel. I’ve been wanting to give those people a lesson for some time. Where’s our table, Robert?

  Parker-Jennings.

  There are some people sitting there, my dear. We shall ‘ave to take this one.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  Didn’t you tell the waiter to reserve it? Waiter!

  Jack Straw.

  Yes, madam.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  You must tell those people that that table’s taken.

  Jack Straw.

  I’m very sorry, madam. Will this one not do instead?

  Ethel.

  Yes, mother. Let’s sit here.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  I’m not going to let people push me into any ‘ole and corner they like.

  Vincent.

  Cheek, I call it.

  Parker-Jennings.

  Come on, sit down, mother.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  [Unwillingly taking her seat at a vacant table.] How often ‘ave I told you not to call me mother? My name’s Marion; I’m sure you ought to know it by now.

  Parker-Jennings.

  Is it? I always thought it was Maria.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  [To Jack Straw.] What are you waiting there for?

  Jack Straw.

  I thought the gentleman wished to give an order, madam.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  Why didn’t you keep that table, eh?

  Jack Straw.

  I’m very sorry, madam, I daresay I misunderstood you.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  Don’t you know English?

  Jack Straw.

  Perfectly, madam.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  I don’t know what they want to engage these dirty foreigners for, they make me sick.

  Ethel.

  Mother, he can hear every word you say.

  Parker-Jennings.

  Two coffees, and bring all the liqueurs you’ve got.

  Jack Straw.

  Very well, sir, cigars or cigarettes?

  Parker-Jennings.

  Bring some cigars, and none of your twopenny stinkers. Bring the most expensive cigars you’ve got. I’ll soon show them who I am.

  Jack Straw.

  Very well, sir.

  [Exit.

  Ethel.

  Mother, how could you be so brutal to poor Rosie. What has she done to you?

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  I wish you wouldn’t call me mother, Ethel. It sounds so common. Why don’t you call me mamma?

  Parker-Jennings.

  Who’s ’is lordship talking to?

  Vincent.

  Oh, that’s little Flossie Squaretoes. I’ll go and give her a look up in a minute.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  I wish you were a little more like your brother, Ethel. He knows ‘ow to live up to ’is position.

  Vincent.

  Aitches, mater, aitches
.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  Oh, you always say I drop my aitches, Vincent. Well, if I do I can afford it.

  Vincent.

  You’re wrong, mater, only the aristocracy can afford to drop their aitches.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  Oh, well, p’raps we shall be aristocracy one of these days, eh, Robert?

  Parker-Jennings.

  You leave it to me, my dear. If money can do it.... I say, ’is lordship lapped up that ‘ock of mine at luncheon, didn’t he?

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  I wish you could get out of that ‘abit of yours of always looking at what people eat and drink. And what if he did lap it up. You didn’t put it there for people to look at, did you?

  Vincent.

  I say, Ethel, you needn’t have turned your back on him all the time.

  Ethel.

  I thought he drank too much.

  Vincent.

  Your ideas are so beastly middle-class. You mustn’t expect a man like Serlo to do things like — like the people we used to know at....

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  That’ll do, Vincent. We all know quite well where we used to live before your father’s poor uncle was taken, and you needn’t refer to it. [Ethel shrugs her shoulders impatiently.] It seems to me that Vincent and I are the only ones of the family who know ‘ow to live up to our position. [Jack Straw comes up with the coffee and liqueurs. Another waiter hands round the cigars. Serlo rejoins them.] [Very affably.] Come and sit by me, Lord Serlo. Now what liqueurs will you ‘ave? If there’s anything you fancy, you just ask for it.

  [Rosie gives a little sob.

  Lady Wanley.

  Oh, my dear, don’t, don’t. You mustn’t mind.

  Rosie.

  I feel so frightfully humiliated. She asked me to go to the hall whenever I felt inclined, and I thought she really meant it. I never knew that I wasn’t wanted. It’s so awful to know that they only thought me horribly pushing.

  Abbott.

  By Jove, I wish it had been one of the men. I should have liked to knock him down and stamp on him.

  Lady Wanley.

  My dear Lewis, how nice and unchristian of you! I always said you were just the right sort of saint for me.

  Mrs. Withers.

  Wouldn’t you like to come away now, my dear?

  Rosie.

  Oh yes, I feel I want to hide myself.

  Lady Wanley.

  Good-bye darling, don’t take it too much to heart. [The Withers, Abbott, and Rosie shake hands with Holland and Lady Wanley, and go out.] Did you ever hear anything so fiendish? Oh, if I could only make that woman suffer as she’s made poor little Rosie suffer. [Suddenly Lady Wanley gets an idea. She leans forward.] Ambrose.

  Holland.

  What’s the matter?

  Lady Wanley.