Grace.
[With a great sigh.] I seem to see the chance of a greater sacrifice than anything I’d ever dreamt of. I wonder.... I believe there’s a chance.... [With a sudden start.] Oh! listen.
[She has heard Claude come in. There is a sound of voices in the hall.
Grace.
That’s settled it. It’s too late now to do anything.
Miss Vernon.
What is it?
Grace.
Claude’s just come in. I heard him speaking to Moore. He’s been given the letter.
Miss Vernon.
D’you mean to say.... [Some part of the facts dawns upon her and she bursts out violently.] Oh, it’s not that the human race are wicked that I mind, or that they’re weak — you can give them backbone; but what I can’t get over is that they are such blooming fools.
Grace.
Will you leave me, both of you? Claude had better find me alone.
Miss Vernon.
[To Archibald, after a glance at Grace.] Come.
[They go out. Grace is horribly frightened. She stands quite still, pulling her handkerchief about. Claude comes in. He has a letter in his hand. He flings it on a table. Grace sees with a start that it is unopened.
Grace.
[Forcing herself to seem natural.] Is the inquest over?
Claude.
[Sinking dejectedly into a chair.] They brought in a verdict of suicide while of unsound mind.
Grace.
That was what you expected, wasn’t it?
Claude.
Yes.
Grace.
You must be thankful it’s finished and done with.
Claude.
[With an effort.] The jury passed a vote of censure on me.
Grace.
Claude!
Claude.
Oh, if you’d only heard the questions they asked me! There were reporters there, so it’ll be in the papers and you can read for yourself. They made me appear a perfect brute.
Grace.
I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you fancy.
Claude.
You see, I hadn’t a chance of defending myself. I wasn’t going to make excuses to a parcel of Dissenting shopkeepers. It made me look as if I hadn’t a leg to stand on.
Grace.
After all, what can it matter what a dozen yokels think of you?
Claude.
And afterwards when I came out — they had the inquest in that big room upstairs at the Insoley Arms — there was a crowd outside, people I’d known all my life, I suppose they’d been taking the opportunity to have a good soak, and they hissed me as I passed.
Grace.
Didn’t you say that you were going to abolish the rule?
Claude.
Of course I’m going to abolish the rule. Hang it all, it’s caused wretchedness enough.
Grace.
I wish you’d had an opportunity of telling them.
Claude.
[Rather shamefacedly.] The coroner asked me what I was going to do about it. I couldn’t knuckle under then with all those people round me. I simply couldn’t, Grace. I was obliged to say that I meant to be master in my own house, and I didn’t propose to let anyone dictate to me.
Grace.
[Putting her hand on his shoulder.] I’m afraid you’ve been awfully worried, old man.
Claude.
It’s given me a bit of a knock to find out that they — they just hate me. I was rather fond of the people on the estate, and I thought they were fond of me. When they’ve been in trouble I’ve done every damned thing I could to help them. When times have been bad I’ve not bothered much about the rents, and we’ve never been rich. Hang it all, I’ve given them all my time and my thoughts for years, and the only result is that they can’t stick me. They haven’t got any mercy if I’ve made a mistake. They give me no credit for good intentions.
Grace.
I’m sure you exaggerate, Claude. You fancy they feel more bitter than they really do.
Claude.
Oh, if you’d only seen them! The pleasure they took in having a dig at me! I could see the hatred on their faces. Oh, I expect Archibald is right. Our time down here is over. The only fellow they want in the country now is the Jew stockbroker with his pockets full of money.
Grace.
Darling, I know that you’ve always acted for the best. I know how much you’ve done for the people on the estate. After all, it wasn’t for their gratitude that you did it, was it? It was because it was your duty.
Claude.
[Rising.] Oh, Grace, I don’t know what I should do without you. You’ve been so awfully good to me through the whole thing. I’m so grateful to you.
Grace.
What nonsense!
Claude.
I was so afraid it would make a difference to you, but it hasn’t, has it?
Grace.
[Shaking her head.] No.
Claude.
If I lost you, Grace, I couldn’t live. Without you — I can’t imagine life without you.
Grace.
How absurd you are, Claude.
Claude.
I’m talking rot, aren’t I?
[He notices the letter, which he had put on the table, and picks it up. Grace catches her breath.
Claude.
Hulloa! I forgot to open this. Moore gave it me as I came in. [With surprise.] It’s your hand-writing.
Grace.
[Quite naturally, holding out her hand.] It’s nothing. I was afraid I should have gone out by the time you came in, and I wanted to remind you about the herbaceous border. It’s only a note.
Claude.
[Giving her the letter.] Are you going out?
Grace.
I was going to motor to Wells with Helen Vernon.
[As she speaks she tears the letter into little bits.
Claude.
Don’t leave me to-day, Grace. I want you so awfully badly.
Grace.
[Sinking with exhaustion into a chair.] No, I won’t leave you ... if you want me.
[Claude kneels down by her side.
Claude.
I always want you, Grace. You’re so much to me.... After all, nothing can really matter to me so long as I have you. It’s such a comfort to think that I can trust you. And you’ll never round on me. I’m awfully grateful for you, Grace.
[He buries his face in her lap, kissing her hands.
Grace.
[In a trembling voice.] I can never be such a wife to you as you deserve, Claude. But I can try. If you can believe in me always, Claude, perhaps in time I can become what you believe me. [He makes a movement.] No, don’t look at me. I want you to know that I love you with all my heart, I love you with my body, and I love you with my soul. I want to forget myself and think only of you. What does my happiness matter so long as I can make you happy?
[She bends down and kisses his hair.
THE END
THE LAND OF PROMISE
CONTENTS
CHARACTERS
ACT I
ACT II
ACT III
ACT IV
TO
IRENE VANBRUGH
CHARACTERS
All applications regarding the Performance Rights of this play should be addressed to Mr. R. Golding Bright, 20, Green Street, Leicester Square, London, W.C. 2. This play was produced on February 26, 1914, at the Duke of York’s Theatre, with the following cast:
Norah Marsh
Irene Vanbrugh.
Edward Marsh
C. V. France.
Gertrude Marsh
Marion Ashworth.
Frank Taylor
Godfrey Tearle.
Reginald Hornby
Basil Foster.
Benjamin Trotter
George Tully.
Sidney Sharp
J. Woodall-Birde.
Emma Sharp
Mary Rorke.
James Wickham
Athol Stewart.
&nbs
p; Dorothy Wickham
Netta Westcott.
Agnes Pringle
Lena Halliday.
Clement Wynne
Charles Goodwin.
Kate
Marion Christie Murray.
Norah Marsh.
Edward Marsh.
Gertrude Marsh.
Frank Taylor.
Reginald Hornby.
Benjamin Trotter.
Sidney Sharp.
Emma Sharp.
James Wickham.
Dorothy Wickham.
Agnes Pringle.
Clement Wynne.
Kate.
The action of the play takes place at Tunbridge Wells, and later in Canada.
ACT I
Scene: The drawing-room at Miss Wickham’s house in Tunbridge Wells. It is a room in which there is too much furniture. There are armchairs covered with faded chintz, little tables here and there, cabinets containing china, a great many photographs in silver frames, porcelain ornaments wherever there is a vacant space, Chippendale chairs and chairs from the Tottenham Court Road. There are flowers in vases and growing plants. The wall-paper has a pattern of enormous chrysanthemums, and on the walls are a large number of old-fashioned watercolours in gilt frames. There is one door, which leads into the hall; and a French window opens on to the garden. The window is decorated with white lace curtains. It is four o’clock in the afternoon. The sun is streaming through the drawn blinds. There is a wreath of white flowers in a cardboard box on one of the chairs. The door is opened by Kate, the parlour-maid. She is of respectable appearance and of a decent age. She admits Miss Pringle. Miss Pringle is companion to a wealthy old lady in Tunbridge Wells. She is a woman of middle age, plainly dressed, thin and narrow of shoulders, with a weather-beaten, tired face and grey hair.
Kate.
I’ll tell Miss Marsh you’re here, Miss Pringle.
Miss Pringle.
How is she to-day, Kate?
Kate.
She’s tired out, poor thing. She’s lying down now. But I’m sure she’d like to see you, Miss.
Miss Pringle.
I’m very glad she didn’t go to the funeral.
Kate.
Dr. Evans thought she’d better stay at home, Miss, and Mrs. Wickham said she’d only upset herself if she went.
Miss Pringle.
I wonder how she stood it all those months, waiting on Miss Wickham hand and foot.
Kate.
Miss Wickham wouldn’t have a professional nurse. And you know what she was, Miss.... Miss Marsh slept in Miss Wickham’s room, and the moment she fell asleep Miss Wickham would have her up because her pillow wanted shaking, or she was thirsty, or something.
Miss Pringle.
I suppose she was very inconsiderate.
Kate.
Inconsiderate isn’t the word, Miss. I wouldn’t be a lady’s companion, not for anything. What they have to put up with!
Miss Pringle.
Oh, well, everyone isn’t like Miss Wickham. The lady I’m companion to, Mrs. Hubbard, is kindness itself.
Kate.
That sounds like Miss Marsh coming downstairs [She goes to the door and opens it.] Miss Pringle is here, Miss.
[Norah comes in. She is a woman of twenty-eight, with a pleasant, honest face and a happy smile. She is gentle, with quiet manners, but she has a quick temper, under very good control, and a passionate nature which is hidden under a demure appearance. She is simply dressed in black.]
Norah.
I am glad to see you. I was hoping you’d be able to come here this afternoon.
Miss Pringle.
Mrs. Hubbard has gone for a drive with somebody or other, and didn’t want me.
[They kiss one another. Norah notices the wreath.]
Norah.
What’s this?
Kate.
It didn’t arrive till after they’d started, Miss.
Norah.
I wonder whom it’s from. [She looks at a card which is attached to the wreath.] “From Mrs. Alfred Vincent, with deepest regret for my dear Miss Wickham and heartiest sympathy for her sorrowing relatives.”
Kate.
Sorrowing relatives is good, Miss.
Norah.
[Remonstrating.] Kate ... I think you’d better take it away.
Kate.
What shall I do with it, Miss?
Norah.
I’m going to the cemetery a little later. I’ll take it with me.
Kate.
Very good, Miss.
[Kate takes up the box and goes out.]
Miss Pringle.
You haven’t been crying, Norah?
Norah.
[With a little apologetic smile.] Yes, I couldn’t help it.
Miss Pringle.
What on earth for?
Norah.
My dear, it’s not unnatural.
Miss Pringle.
Well, I don’t want to say anything against her now she’s dead and gone, poor thing, but Miss Wickham was the most detestable old woman I ever met.
Norah.
I don’t suppose one can live all that time with anyone and not be a little sorry to part with them for ever. I was Miss Wickham’s companion for ten years.
Miss Pringle.
How you stood it! Exacting, domineering, disagreeable.
Norah.
Yes, I suppose she was. Because she paid me a salary she thought I wasn’t a human being. I never saw anyone with such a bitter tongue. At first I used to cry every night when I went to bed because of the things she said to me. But I got used to them.
Miss Pringle.
I wonder you didn’t leave her. I would have.
Norah.
It’s not easy to get posts as lady’s companion.
Miss Pringle.
That’s true. They tell me the agents’ books are full of people wanting situations. Before I went to Mrs. Hubbard I was out of one for nearly two years.
Norah.
It’s not so bad for you. You can always go and stay with your brother.
Miss Pringle.
You’ve got a brother too.
Norah.
Yes, but he’s farming in Canada. He had all he could do to keep himself, he couldn’t keep me too.
Miss Pringle.
How is he doing now?
Norah.
Oh, he’s doing very well. He’s got a farm of his own. He wrote over a couple of years ago and told me he could always give me a home if I wanted one.
Miss Pringle.
Canada’s so far off.
Norah.
Not when you get there.
Miss Pringle.
Why don’t you draw the blinds?
Norah.
I thought I ought to wait till they come back from the funeral.
Miss Pringle.
It must be a great relief to you now it’s all over.
Norah.
Sometimes I can’t realise it. These last few weeks I hardly got to bed at all, and when the end came I was utterly exhausted. For two days I could do nothing but sleep. Poor Miss Wickham. She did hate dying.
Miss Pringle.
That’s the extraordinary part of it. I believe you were really fond of her.
Norah.
D’you know that for nearly a year she would eat nothing but what I gave her with my own hands. And she liked me as much as she was capable of liking anybody.
Miss Pringle.
That wasn’t much.
Norah.
And then, I was so dreadfully sorry for her.
Miss Pringle.
Good heavens!
Norah.
She’d been a hard and selfish woman all her life, and there was no one who cared for her. It seemed so dreadful to die like that and leave not a soul to regret one. Her nephew and his wife were just waiting for her death. It was dreadful. Each time they came down from London I saw them looking at her to see if she was any worse than when last they’d seen her.
<
br /> Miss Pringle.
Well, I thought her a horrid old woman, and I’m glad she’s dead. And I hope she’s left you well provided for.
Norah.
[With a smile.] Oh, I think she’s done that. Two years ago when I nearly went away she said she’d left me enough to live upon.
Miss Pringle.
You mean when that assistant of Dr. Evans wanted to marry you? I’m glad you wouldn’t have him.
Norah.
He was very nice. But, of course, he wasn’t a gentleman.
Miss Pringle.
I shouldn’t like to live with a man at all; I think they’re horrid, but, of course, it would be impossible if he weren’t a gentleman.
Norah.
[With a twinkle in her eye.] He came to see Miss Wickham, but she wouldn’t have anything to do with him. First she said that she couldn’t spare me, and then she said that I had a very bad temper.
Miss Pringle.
I like her saying that.
Norah.
It’s quite true. Every now and then I felt I couldn’t put up with her any more. I forgot that I was dependent on her, and if she dismissed me I probably shouldn’t be able to find another situation, and I just flew at her. I must say she was very nice about it; she used to look at me and grin, and, when it was all over, say: “My dear, when you marry, if your husband’s a wise man, he’ll use a big stick now and then.”
Miss Pringle.
Old cat.
Norah.
[Smiling.] I should like to see a man try.
Miss Pringle.
How much d’you think she’s left you?
Norah.
Well, of course, I don’t know; the will is going to be read this afternoon when they come back from the funeral, but from what she said I believe about two hundred and fifty a year.
Miss Pringle.
It’s the least she could do. She’s had the ten best years of your life.
Norah.
[With a sigh of relief.] I shall never be at anybody’s beck and call again. I shall be able to get up when I like and go to bed when I like, go out when I choose, and come in when I choose.
Miss Pringle.
[Drily.] You’ll probably marry.
Norah.
Never.
Miss Pringle.
Then what’ll you do?
Norah.
I shall go to Italy, Florence, Rome. D’you think it’s horrible of me, I’m so happy?
Delphi Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (Illustrated) Page 383