George Winter.
I think Mr. Bennett would be more than human if he cleared you at his own expense.
Bennett.
If there were any trouble, my lord, I should have to tell the truth.
Etchingham.
That’s just what I want you to do.
Bennett.
I should have to say that you agreed with us in the necessity of borrowing the bonds with the idea of putting them back as soon as we’d floated the company, and that you signed the order to the bank with full knowledge of the seriousness of your act.
George Winter.
What is truth, said jesting Pilate.
Bennett.
You’re just as deep in it as we are, my lord.
Etchingham.
Oh, my God!
George Winter.
It’s no use losing one’s head because one’s in a tight place.
Etchingham.
You’ve tricked me. You’re a common swindler. In a month we may all be in prison.
George Winter.
I hear they make you very comfortable there nowadays.
Etchingham.
Well, I see my duty before me. I didn’t know, but now there can be no excuse for me. I must go to Scotland Yard at once. I shall make a clean breast of the whole thing.
George Winter.
D’you think that’ll help you? It may mean five years instead of seven.
Etchingham.
Every one will know that I’m incapable of such an act.
George Winter.
Don’t be a silly fool. Listen to me. We’ve got you tight. If we go under, you go under too. Let there be no doubt in your mind about that.
Etchingham.
I must do my duty.
George Winter.
Your duty is to keep your head and help us out of the mess as best you can.
Etchingham.
But nothing can be done. The mine’s worthless. How are we to raise eighty thousand pounds?
George Winter.
We’ve got six weeks before we need replace the bonds. If we can do it by then no one will ever know they’ve left the cellars of the bank.
Etchingham.
There’s no more chance of replacing them in six weeks than there is the day after to-morrow.
George Winter.
Yes, there is, if we can float the company. That’s where you come in. I’ve got to keep my seat. I want all my prestige. I can’t have a divorce. You must go to Kate at once, and tell her that the only way she can save you from prison is by telling these men who are coming from Middlepool that she has no cause for complaint against me.
Etchingham.
Good God! I’d forgotten Kate.
Bennett.
It’s only by going on now that we can save ourselves and the money that’s invested in our companies.
Etchingham.
[Irritably.] You wouldn’t have got into such a mess with Kate if you hadn’t made such a damned fool of yourself. Why couldn’t you leave these women alone?
George Winter.
[With a chuckle.] My dear fellow, you speak as if I were to blame. They simply flung themselves into my arms. It would have been very rude if I hadn’t occasionally pressed them to my bosom.
Bennett.
It’s not much the Governor asks you, my lord.
Etchingham.
To go and tell my daughter that I’m a thief and a swindler, and throw myself on her mercy!
George Winter.
That’s it.
Etchingham.
I’ll see you damned first!
George Winter.
The alternative is prison.... It’s not very nice, penal servitude — is it, Fred? You know all about it. You can tell him.
Bennett.
[With a gasp.] Governor!
Etchingham.
What does he mean?
George Winter.
Fred’s a solicitor who was struck off the rolls. He was sentenced to three years for misappropriating a client’s money.
Etchingham.
Good God! Is that true, Mr. Bennett?
Bennett.
[Ashamed.] Yes, my lord.
Etchingham.
I never knew.
George Winter.
Of course you didn’t. It’s not the kind of thing you’d expect him to brag about, is it? But it’ll go worse with him if we’re found out, because he’s been at it before. Tell him what it’s like, Fred.
Bennett.
[With agony.] Oh, Governor, don’t!
George Winter.
I knew him before he went in. His name was Feltman then. And when they let him out I took him because I felt sure he had everything to gain by sticking to me, and everything to lose by giving me away.
Etchingham.
My God!
George Winter.
He can tell you what you’re in for. What the broad arrow’s like to wear, and what the food’s like to eat. And the work — it’s a healthy life, regular hours — you’re strong for your age. I don’t see why you shouldn’t break stones in the quarries with the rest of us. Hour after hour with your back feeling as if it were going to break, and your arms aching, aching, but not so badly as your heart.
[Bennett breaks down and sobs, difficultly trying to restrain himself.
George Winter.
And you count the days, three hundred and sixty-five in a year, and you wonder if they’ll ever come to an end. And your mind keeps on working. It wouldn’t be so bad if you were a brainless hulk like the man who’s sweating away beside you; but you think, and you can’t help thinking. And you curse yourself. And you think of the people outside who are free to do as they like, and you think of the spring-time and the flowers, and you think of the pleasant streets of London. And then there’s the regret which wrings your heart day after day, and you wish — you wish a thousand times you were dead. You sleep, you’re too tired not to, even though you’ve got hunger gnawing at your vitals, for you’re hungry, always hungry — and in your sleep you dream that you’re back again in your home, happy and comfortable; and when you wake up and feel your hard prison bed, you cry like a child.
Bennett.
Oh, my God! My God!
George Winter.
And then when you come out, it’s not over. You slink along the streets, feeling that it’s written on your forehead for every one to see, and your heart beats when you catch sight of a policeman. And at night it all comes back to you. You see it again, the warders, the convict gang, the prison food, and your back aches with the labour. And you wake shrieking with terror, shrieking, shrieking!
[There is a pause. Etchingham looks straight in front of him with chill, stony eyes. Bennett cowers brokenly, trembling in every limb. There is a knock at the door. Tap, tap, tap. Even George Winter starts and a shiver runs through him. The knocking is repeated.
George Winter.
[Angry with his own nervousness.] Who the devil’s that? Come in!
The Butler enters.
George Winter.
What is it? I told you we weren’t to be disturbed.
Thompson.
The gentlemen have come, sir.
[George Winter reflects for an instant, and gives Etchingham a rapid glance.
George Winter.
I’ll ring when you can show them up.
Thompson.
Very good, sir.
[Exit.
George Winter.
[Abruptly.] Now go to Kate, tell her what I’ve told you, and say the only way she can save you is by giving in.
Etchingham.
[Hoarsely.] I’ll see you damned first.
George Winter.
[Astounded.] What!
Etchingham.
[Gathering strength and courage.] I tell you I won’t. And you can go to Hell!
Bennett.
My lord, you don’t know what you’re doing.
George Winter.
[Hardly able to believ
e his ears.] D’you mean to say you refuse to speak to Kate?
Etchingham.
If I speak to her it’ll only be to tell her that you’re a rotten scoundrel, and it’s worth her while to put up with anything to be rid of you.
George Winter.
It means seven years, you know that, don’t you?
Etchingham.
For you and that dirty convict there.
George Winter.
You think you can get off by turning on us, but you can’t. We’ve got you tight.
Etchingham.
You miserable fellow, d’you think I shall try to escape my penalty?
George Winter.
[With angry impatience.] It’s tomfoolery. We haven’t got time for highfalutin now. Those fellows can’t be kept waiting all night. Kate’s the only person who can save us, and you....
Etchingham.
[Throwing the words at him.] I tell you I won’t. You’ve made a catspaw of me. And you thought you’d only got to say the word and I’d come to heel.
George Winter.
[Contemptuously.] You’ve done it often enough before.
Bennett.
Don’t expect any mercy from him, my lord. He’ll do you in as sure as eggs is eggs.
Etchingham.
I don’t want any mercy. You think you’ve got me tight. Don’t you know that I’ve got a way of escape whenever I choose to take it.
George Winter.
What are you going to do?
Etchingham.
That’s my business.
[George Winter understands; he drains a long breath.
Bennett.
[In a whisper.] What does he mean, Governor?
George Winter.
D’you think you’d have the courage?
Bennett.
[Understanding.] Ah!... I tried it once, but I couldn’t do it. My hand shook. I let them take me.
George Winter.
[Reflectively.] I hadn’t thought of that. You can shoot yourself.
Etchingham.
[Bitterly sarcastic.] I’m obliged to you for the permission.
George Winter.
We drove him too far, Fred. We’ve made a mess of it.
Etchingham.
You have, a confounded mess.
[He gets up and hobbles across the room towards the door. George Winter intercepts him.
George Winter.
Where are you going?
Etchingham.
[Insolently.] Get out of my way, you damned bounder.
[George Winter looks at him for a moment and steps aside.
George Winter.
[With a grim smile.] It is plain that you don’t think there’s anything more to be got out of me.
Etchingham.
[With a wave of the hand.] I wish you a pleasant time at Portland, gentlemen.
George Winter.
Ring the bell, Fred.
[Etchingham stops as he hears the order and turns round.
Bennett.
That’ll bring those men up. Don’t you remember you told....
George Winter.
[Interrupting.] Ring the bell, damn you!
[Bennett, without a word, presses the button. Etchingham comes back into the middle of the room.
Etchingham.
What are you going to do?
George Winter.
Hulloa, I thought you were routing out your pistols by now.
Etchingham.
You’re not going to see those fellows?
Bennett.
They’ll insist on seeing Mrs. Winter.
George Winter.
Then I shall send for her.
Etchingham.
Oh, you needn’t think she’ll back you up in your confounded lies.
George Winter.
[Blandly.] Anyhow, I dare say you’d like to wait and see.
Etchingham.
[Suspiciously.] Have you got something up your sleeve?
George Winter.
My dear fellow, our sex would be at an impossible disadvantage in its dealings with the other, if it were not for the most obstinate of all their passions.... Self-sacrifice.
Etchingham.
You’re counting on that?
George Winter.
You’ve given Kate such a training in it that I can’t help thinking it has become a habit.
Etchingham.
I won’t say a word to move her.
[He flings himself heavily into a chair. Already half his heroic resolutions have evaporated. George Winter watches him with cynical amusement.
George Winter.
Like all great men I leave as little as possible to chance.
Etchingham.
[With a start.] Perigal?
George Winter.
That’s it.
Bennett.
D’you think there’s a chance, Governor?
George Winter.
We must risk it. It’s the last fling.
[The Butler ushers in Mr. Swalecliffe, James Ford and Colonel Boyce. Mr. Swalecliffe is a Nonconformist Minister, clean shaven, with a sallow grave face. James Ford is a wealthy man, a pillar of the Nonconformist church in Middlepool and a local politician of importance; he is a large man, stout, oldish, badly dressed, with a slight North Country accent; he gives the impression of shrewdness, but also of complete honesty and straightforwardness. Colonel Boyce, who is George Winter’s agent, is spare and tall, bronzed, with grey hair and a grey waxed moustache; alert, neatly dressed and dapper. He is the kind of retired military man who may be seen by the score in Bath, Tunbridge Wells or Cheltenham.
Thompson.
Mr. Swalecliffe, Mr. James Ford, Colonel Boyce.
[Exit.
George Winter.
How d’you do? I’m delighted to see you! I hope I haven’t kept you waiting?
James Ford.
Not a bit! It’s of no consequence.
George Winter.
Let me introduce you to my father-in-law. Mr. Swalecliffe — Lord Francis Etchingham.
[Mr. Swalecliffe bows stiffly. He is not going to open his mouth if he can help it.
George Winter.
Mr. James Ford.
James Ford.
Pleased to meet you, Lord Francis.
Etchingham.
It’s very kind of you to say so.
George Winter.
When I suggested to Lord Francis that it would be more convenient for you to come here, he put his house at my disposal. My wife is staying here, you know. We’re doing up the house in Portman Square, and she can’t stand the smell of paint.
Boyce.
[Anxious to make things easy.] Naturally. I don’t like it myself.
George Winter.
How is your wife, Mr. Swalecliffe? Well, I trust.
Swalecliffe.
Thank you.
George Winter.
And the children?
Swalecliffe.
Yes, thank you.
George Winter.
Now sit down and make yourselves comfortable, won’t you? Have you had tea?
James Ford.
Yes, thank you.
Boyce.
[Rather pompously.] I took them into my club.
George Winter.
Will you have a drink? I can recommend my father-in-law’s whisky. I know it’s no good offering you one, Mr. Swalecliffe?
James Ford.
Boyce and I had a little drop of Scotch to our tea.
George Winter.
Then we’ll get to business at once, shall we?
Swalecliffe.
[Clearing his throat.] I should like to say, before we go any further, that it is with the greatest regret that Mr. Ford and I have come up to London on such an errand.
James Ford.
There’s been a lot of gossip in Middlepool, and, well, we thought the shortest way to settle it was....
Boyce.
I personally don’t think this is a matter
of which the committee ought to take any notice. A man’s private life is his private life, and....
James Ford.
That’s all very well, Colonel. Winter’s an old friend of mine. We’ve had business dealings together for the past twenty years. But ... well, it’s a question of winning the election or losing it. There’s never been much in it one way or another, and fifty votes more or less will make all the difference.
Swalecliffe.
I want to tell you frankly, Mr. Winter, that I should feel it my duty to vote against you, if there were any truth in the reports that have been going about. And I should feel it my duty to advise my congregation to follow my example.
George Winter.
That’s clear enough in all conscience. Gentlemen, the best answer I can make to you is that I receive you in my father-in-law’s house. My wife is upstairs in her mother’s boudoir. I give you my word of honour that there is not the smallest shadow of truth in any single syllable that you have heard. I have issued a writ for libel against the Herald, and....
Boyce.
Surely that ought to satisfy anyone.
James Ford.
Well, it doesn’t satisfy me.
George Winter.
Perhaps you would like my father-in-law to tell you that every word I say is scrupulously true?
Swalecliffe.
We don’t doubt your word, Mr. Winter, but we came to London with a particular object.
Boyce.
I must say I thought from the beginning it was open to the gravest question.
James Ford.
The committee discussed it at length, and the majority agreed that....
George Winter.
[Rising.] Of course, of course, Etchingham, will you give these gentlemen the assurance?
Etchingham.
[After a moment’s hesitation.] I think the whole thing’s damned impertinent.
Boyce.
That’s exactly what I said.
James Ford.
[Quietly.] You’re only wasting time, Winter.
Swalecliffe.
We made up our minds that we must have a certain assurance from the lips of Mrs. Winter. Then we can go back to Middlepool with comfortable minds.
George Winter.
[Trying bluster.] D’you mean to say you wish to cross-examine my wife?
Swalecliffe.
I merely wish her to answer the questions that were put to you in Colonel Boyce’s letter on behalf of the committee.
George Winter.
[Pretending to fly into a violent passion.] No decent woman would stand it. I refuse to ask my wife to expose herself to such a degradation.
Delphi Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (Illustrated) Page 369