Delphi Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (Illustrated)

by William Somerset Maugham

  Jack Straw.

  I seem to know your name so well.

  Lady Wanley.

  Mr. Parker-Jennings is the great philanthropist. He’s provided books to put in all Mr. Carnegie’s free libraries.

  Jack Straw.

  What a noble act. I should very much like to make his acquaintance.

  Vincent.

  He’s sitting over there with my mother and sister. Shall I go and fetch him, sir?

  Jack Straw.

  It’s very kind of you to take so much trouble.

  Holland.

  [To Jack Straw in an undertone.] For goodness sake be careful.

  Jack Straw.

  [Putting up his eyeglass.] I beg your pardon, I did not catch what you said.... Pray repeat it.

  Holland.

  [Embarrassed.] It was of no consequence, sir.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  [To Vincent.] Who is he, Vincent? I saw ‘er curtsey to him.

  Vincent.

  Come along, pater. He wants to be introduced to you.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  I’m coming too, Vincent.

  Vincent.

  Awfully jolly chap. Archduke Sebastian. What ho!

  Parker-Jennings.

  But look here, Vincent, I don’t know how to talk to Royalty. How shall I address him?

  Vincent.

  Oh, that’s all right. Say Sir wherever you can slip it in and when you can’t say Royal Highness.

  [Jack Straw comes forward a little with Lady Wanley.

  Lady Wanley.

  This is Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  Jack Straw.

  [Shaking hands with her.] I’m delighted to make your acquaintance. [Turning to Parker-Jennings.] I have often heard of you, Mr.... Mr....

  Lady Wanley.

  [Prompting.] Parker-Jennings.

  Jack Straw.

  [With a relieved smile.] Mr. Parker-Jennings. I’m sure I wish we had in my country more men of your public spirit and disinterestedness.

  Parker-Jennings.

  [Very nervously.] I try to do my little best, you know, sir, your Royal Highness.

  Jack Straw.

  Won’t you introduce me to your daughter?

  Parker-Jennings.

  I’m sure, sir, your Royal Highness is very affable. Ethel!

  [Ethel slowly comes forward, and curtsies. He looks at her steadily, takes her hand and kisses it.

  Vincent.

  [In an undertone.] What ho!

  END OF THE FIRST ACT.

  THE SECOND ACT

  The drawing-room at Taverner, the Parker-Jennings’ place in Cheshire. Large French windows lead out on to the garden. Mrs. Parker-Jennings, magnificently dressed, is standing in the middle of the room. Parker-Jennings comes in, rubbing his hands.

  Parker-Jennings.

  The band has come, my dear, and they’re ready to start playing the moment any one turns up.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  ‘Ave you told ’em about the Pomeranian anthem?

  Parker-Jennings.

  What do you think, my dear?

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  I wish you wouldn’t answer me like that. Why don’t you say yes or no? I can’t abide these city ways of yours.

  Parker-Jennings.

  I was only being facetious, my dear.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  I should ‘ave thought you’d learned by now that it’s vulgar to be funny. You’ve never ‘eard a duchess make a joke, ‘ave you?

  Vincent comes in.

  Vincent.

  I’ve just been round the refreshment tents. There’s one thing, people can’t say we haven’t spread ourselves out.

  Parker-Jennings.

  [Rubbing his hands.] I ‘aven’t spared a single expense. The band’s down from London, and the refreshments are from Gunter’s. There’s not a cigar on the place that cost less than one and six — and that’s the wholesale price.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  Oh, we’ve done it well, there’s no denying that. I’ve asked the Withers, Robert. Florrie Withers will be mad with jealousy. I shouldn’t wonder if she didn’t choke with envy when she swallowed a caviar sandwich.

  Parker-Jennings.

  It was a rare stroke of business when we got the Archduke to come and stay.

  Vincent.

  That’s through me, pater. You’d never have known him if I hadn’t been on the spot.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  And I’ve asked Lady Wanley. I just want her to see that I can get on without her. All the county’s coming. I sent ’em all cards, whether I knew ’em or not, and they’ve all accepted.

  Parker-Jennings.

  Don’t you remember, Marion, how bucked we were in the old days when Mrs. Bromsgrove came to dine with us, because her husband was on the L.C.C.?

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  I wish she could see me now. D’you remember ‘ow she used to patronise me? I wish all that stuck-up lot on Brixton ‘ill was here to see us ‘ob-nob with the aristocracy.

  Parker-Jennings.

  It’s the Archduke that done it, my dear.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  What’s Serlo now? Marquis of Serlo — pooh. He isn’t going to get any more opportunities from me — and if he says anything I’ll just send him off with a flea in his ear.

  Vincent.

  Draw it mild, mater.

  Parker-Jennings.

  Your mother’s a great woman, Vincent. This is the day of her life.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  I wish I ‘adn’t been such a fool as to ask Serlo to stay here. And it’s just like that aggravating girl. When I wanted Ethel to marry him, she wouldn’t so much as look at him, and now that she can have some one else for the asking, she’s with ’im all day.

  Vincent.

  Well, I’m for the bird in the hand, mater. The Archduke don’t look much like a marrying man to me.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  Don’t you worry about that, my dear. Every man’s a marrying man when he’s got a chance of a pretty girl with ‘alf a million of money.

  Parker-Jennings.

  Here she is.

  Ethel comes in with Lord Serlo.

  Ethel.

  The Withers have just motored over, mother.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  They would be first, wouldn’t they? I expect Florrie Withers was waiting on the doorstep till the clock struck four. Where’s his Royal Highness?

  Ethel.

  I don’t know at all.

  Serlo.

  He’s asleep in the garden; he’s sittin’ in the most comfortable arm-chair in the place, with another for each of his legs, and he’s clasping in his hands what looks suspiciously like a very long gin and soda to me.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  Well, somebody must go and wake him up. I’ve asked ‘alf the county to meet him, and he can’t go on sleeping.

  Jack Straw comes in.

  Jack Straw.

  I say, what have you got a beastly band playing the Pomeranian anthem for? Woke me up. I was having such a jolly sleep too.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  [Very affably.] The people are just coming, sir.

  Jack Straw.

  What people?

  Parker-Jennings.

  All the very best people in Cheshire, sir — no outsiders to-day. What ho!

  Jack Straw.

  Good lord, are you giving a party?

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  Don’t you remember, sir? I asked if I might invite a few friends to meet you.

  Jack Straw.

  Oh, yes — Lady Wanley and Holland. I thought we might have a jolly little game of bridge in the garden. What have you got the village band in for?

  Vincent.

  That’s not the village band, sir. That’s the Royal Blue Orchestra.

  Parker-Jennings.

  Cost me £150 to have them down. Special train from London, and
I don’t know what all.

  Vincent.

  Shut up, pater. You needn’t tell every one how much you paid for things.

  Jack Straw.

  How many do you expect?

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  Oh — only my most intimate friends — about....

  Jack Straw.

  Yes?

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  Well, about three hundred and fifty.

  Jack Straw.

  By George, that’s cheerful. D’you want me to shake hands with them all?

  Parker-Jennings.

  They’re the very best people in the county, sir. Crème de la crème.

  A servant enters to announce Mr. and Mrs. Withers.

  They come in.

  Servant.

  Mr. and Mrs. Withers.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  How d’you do? It’s so nice of you to come before any one else.

  Mrs. Withers.

  We know you’re not used to these grand affairs, Maria, and we thought you might want a couple of old friends to do something for you.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  Oh, thank you. But there are plenty of servants. May I introduce Mr. and Mrs. Withers to your Royal ‘Ighness.

  Jack Straw.

  How d’you do.

  Mrs. Parker-Jennings.

  We were just going into the garden. I daresay people will begin to come presently.

  [They all go out except Ethel and Lord Serlo.

  Serlo.

  I say, I’m going to hook it to-morrow.

  Ethel.

  Are you? I’m very sorry.

  Serlo.

  I wish I thought that.

  Ethel.

  Why are you going so soon?

  Serlo.

  Your respected mother has given your humble notice to quit.

  Ethel.

  What do you mean?

  Serlo.

  Look here, let’s be frank with one another, shall we?

  Ethel.

  Aren’t we always?

  Serlo.

  Well, if you ask me point blank, anythin’ but.

  Ethel.

  Then let us be frank at once.

  Serlo.

  Well, ten days ago your people were all over me. I suppose you know why as well as I do.

  Ethel.

  D’you think we need talk of that?

  Serlo.

  Frankness is rather tryin’, ain’t it?

  Ethel.

  No. Please go on.

  Serlo.

  It was dear Lord Serlo all day long; they couldn’t have enough of me. Rippin’ good chap, Serlo. Just the sort of cove one would like to have for a son-in-law.

  Ethel.

  Lord Serlo!

  Serlo.

  Half a mo. I ain’t done yet. Eminently suitable match, and all that sort of thing, only the young lady couldn’t stick me at any price.

  Ethel.

  I don’t know why you should say this.

  Serlo.

  Better have it out, you know; rotten, keepin’ things on your chest. Don’t blame the young lady. Don’t know that I should much fancy myself if I was a blushing damsel. Not everybody’s money. Got a bit damaged in transit, eh, what? Been mixed up in one or two scandals. Not the right thing for an old-established marquess. Bit inclined to drink. No harm in him, you know, but not the sort of man you’d like to spend the rest of your life with. Young woman got a mind of her own. Lets the noble lord see she wouldn’t take him if he was given away with a pound of tea. All right, says noble lord, bet’s off. Not much, says mother of young woman. Half a million goin’ beggin’. Give her time to get used to you. Fascinating cove really. More she knows you more she’ll like you. Come down and stay in the country.

  Ethel.

  [With a laugh.] How can you talk such nonsense!

  Serlo.

  All right, says noble lord, I’m on. Jolly nice girl, and all that sort of thing. Noble lord rather smit. Thinks if she’ll have him he’ll turn over a new leaf — give up everythin’ rotten and try and make her a good husband. Rather taken with the idea of double harness. He may look a fool, but noble lord knows a good thing when he sees it, and the young lady’s about the best thing he’s ever set eyes on.

  Ethel.

  Are you talking seriously by any chance?

  Serlo.

  Now don’t interrupt me. I’ve just got into a good steady canter, and I’ll get it all off my chest at once.

  Ethel.

  I’m so sorry.

  Serlo.

  Well, when eligible marquess gets down in the country, what d’you think he finds? Blessed if there ain’t a foreign prince on the scene. My word, that’s enough to put the noble lord’s aristocratic nose right out of joint, ain’t it? Look here, old boy, you keep your weather eye open, and all that sort of thing, says the noble lord to himself. May be an ass, don’t you know, but when there’s a bloomin’ hurricane comin’ along he can see which way the wind is blowin’. Brother rather chilly, father rather chilly, mother regular iceberg. All right, says noble lord to himself, but what about Pretty Polly?

  Ethel.

  Is that me by any chance?

  Serlo.

  For the last month Pretty Polly had been simply turnin’ her back on noble lord, snubbin’ him right and left, and all of a sudden she becomes extraordinary affable. Hulloa, what’s this, says noble lord, and his little heart goes pit-a-pat. He may be a fool, but he ain’t a damned fool, and in a day or two he tumbles to it. So, like a wise man, he packs his bag and hooks it.

  Ethel.

  I don’t know what on earth you mean?

  Serlo.

  Don’t you? Well, will you have it straight from the shoulder?

  Ethel.

  We agreed to be quite frank.

  Serlo.

  All right. No spoof. My dear, I just saw that you were fairly knocked silly by the Archduke, and there wasn’t a ghost of a chance for little Ned Serlo.

  Ethel.

  It’s not true.

  Serlo.

  Oh, yes, it is. You see, I’m a bit knocked silly myself, and that makes you precious far-sighted.

  Ethel.

  You!

  Serlo.

  All right, you needn’t get up on your hind legs. I’m not goin’ to propose to you now. I know it would be no precious good. At first I didn’t care twopence; it was just a business arrangement — half a million down on one side and an old-established marquisate on the other. But now.... Well, you know I’m rather an ass at saying what I mean — when I really mean it.

  Ethel.

  I’m very sorry. I’m afraid I’ve been unkind to you.

  Serlo.

  Oh, no, you haven’t. I do seem a rotten little bounder, don’t I?

  Ethel.

  No, I think you might be an awfully good friend.

  Serlo.

  It’s jolly of you to say so. You know, I can’t stick your family. Can you?

  Ethel.

  [Smiling.] You see, I knew them before they were rich. When you’ve lived all your life in a sordid narrow way, it’s very hard to have such enormous wealth as ours.

  Serlo.

  You make allowances for them, but you never did for me.

  Ethel.

  It would have been very impertinent of me.

  Serlo.

  It never struck you that it’s devilish hard to be a marquess with no means of livelihood but your title. And the worst of a title is that it’ll get you plenty of credit, but dooced little hard cash.

  Ethel.

  I never thought of that.

  Serlo.

  Well, look here, what I wanted to say is this: it’s no business of mine about the Archduke. You know, I don’t know much about royalty, but I don’t think a foreign prince is likely to marry the daughter of nobody in particular just because she’s got nice eyes and a pot of money. [Ethel is about to speak.] No, let me go on. You may be going to have a rotten time, and I ju
st want you to know that if at any time you want me — well, you know what I mean, don’t you. Let’s forget that you’re an heiress, and I’m an old-established marquess. You’re an awfully ripping sort, and I’m just Ned Serlo. I’m not a bad sort either, and perhaps we might be happy together.

  Ethel.

  [Touched.] It’s very charming of you. I’m so glad that I know you better now. Whatever happens I know I can count on you.

  Serlo.

  That’s all right then. Meanwhile noble lord’s goin’ to hook it — leave the coast clear, and bear it like a man, don’t you know.

  Enter Jack Straw.

  Jack Straw.

  Well, how are the weather and the crops?

  Serlo.

  [Rather surprised.] Blessed if I know, sir.

  Jack Straw.

  I merely asked because you looked as if you’d been discussing them.

  [He gives Serlo a glance. Serlo shows no sign of moving.

  Jack Straw.

  I’m not driving you away, am I?

  Serlo.

  [Getting up.] Not at all, sir. I thought I’d go and have a look at the party.

  Jack Straw.

  Do go and pretend you’re me, there’s a good fellow, and shake hands with some of those confounded people. You’ll see where I ought to stand, because there’s a little piece of red carpet on the lawn.

  Serlo.

  I’m afraid they’re not takin’ any of me, sir.

  [Exit.

  Jack Straw.

  The only advantage I’ve ever been able to find in being a royal personage is that when anybody’s in your way you just tell him to go, and he goes.

  Ethel.

  Why did you want Lord Serlo to go, sir?

  Jack Straw.

  Because I wanted to be alone with you. Ask me another, quickly.

  Ethel.

  Oughtn’t I to help mother to receive people?

  Jack Straw.

  I’m sure you ought. But, you see, that’s another advantage of being a royal personage, that you can’t go till I give you your dismissal. I say, don’t you hate parties?

  Ethel.

  Dreadfully.

  Jack Straw.

  So do I. Let’s pretend there isn’t one, shall we? I say, why don’t you sit down and make yourself comfy?

  Ethel.

  I should like to have a little talk with you, sir.

  Jack Straw.

  That’s jolly. I wish we had a regiment of soldiers there to turn all those people out.

  Ethel.

  May I say anything I like to you, sir?

  Jack Straw.

  Good heavens, why not?

  Ethel.