A Fool's Paradise: An Original Play in Three Acts

by Sydney Grundy

ACT III.

Scene.—Same as Act II. It is after dinner, the room is lighted. Evening dress. Kate is discovered at piano, finishing a song; Normantower standing beside her. Tom, L., and Mildred, R., are seated on the centre seat, taking no notice of anybody, and looking the pictures of woe. Beatrice’s fan on piano. Lights full up in front. Blue limes in conservatory.

Nor. Thanks, awfully! (R. of Kate, above her)

Kate. That’s Mr. Selwyn’s favourite—(rising)—the music’s pretty, but such stupid words. (crosses down to C., Normantower follows her)

Nor. Yes, but you sing them with such an expression.

Kate. Such an appropriate expression?

Enter Servants, R.U.D., with coffee, etc., which they hand to Kate. Price enters first, followed by Servant. The former carries large salver with cups of coffee; the latter, sugar and milk on small salver. They go down to back of sofa.

Nor. Yes, that’s what I meant. Such an appropriate expression!

Kate. (laughing) Of stupidity? (goes to sofa)

Nor. No, no! That isn’t what I meant. Oh dear, I never can say what I want to say, to you.

Kate. Shall I assist you?

Nor. If you only would! (C.R. of sofa)

Kate. I mean to sugar.

Nor. I meant to sugar.

Kate. Cream?

Nor. Thanks awfully. (Kate hands cup to Normantower, and takes another herself, and sits on sofa, L. of it)

Nor. (aside) I didn’t mean sugar, but I must agree with her.

Servants offer coffee to Tom and then to Mildred; they simply reverse their attitudes, without taking further notice. Exeunt Servants R.U.D.

Kate. (cup in hand) Is that as you like it?

Nor. (seating himself by her) This is just as I like it. So, it’s quite settled, you’re going to stay here? (on sofa)

Kate. Yes, I find I can’t tear myself away from Ravenhurst—I’m a fixture.

Nor. I say! are you a landlord’s or a tenant’s fixture?

Kate. Oh, I’m attached to the freehold—very much attached to it.

Nor. That’s a pity. I thought perhaps you were removable.

Kate. What if I were?

Nor. I should like to remove you, that’s all.

Kate. I thought you were a confirmed bachelor?

Nor. That’s just it. That’s what makes it so jolly, I being a confirmed bachelor, and you being a confirmed old maid——

Kate. Old maid?

Nor. I mean, you will be an old maid—in time.

Kate. You didn’t say so.

Nor. But I meant, in time. So there’s no danger. We can do what we like.

Kate. Of course, we can do what we like.

Nor. We can talk together.

Kate. We can walk together.

Nor. We can sing together!

Kate. Do you mean, in time?

Nor. Miss Derwent, it was you who were out of time yesterday. That was a crotchet.

Kate. Nay, it was a quaver.

Nor. A crotchet. } (rising, crossing to R. and putting down cup on piano)

} ad lib.

Kate. A quaver. } (rising and putting down cup on table L. and then cross to R.C.)

Nor. Here is the music—see. (takes it from piano and comes to her R.C.)

Enter Beatrice, L.D., and sits unobserved, on sofa.

Kate. (pointing to note) What did I tell you?

Nor. You said a quaver.

Kate. No, I said a crotchet.

Nor. Oh!

Kate. Certainly, a crotchet. This is how it goes. (takes the music, crosses him, and sits at piano and sings one verse of a song)

Nor. (enraptured) Thanks—oh thanks, awfully. (standing on her R.)

Bea. Rather high for you, isn’t it, my dear? (both turn)

Nor. Mrs. Selwyn! (turns and advances C.)

Kate. (rises) I beg your pardon?

Bea. Your voice is so charming, it is a pity to strain it.

Kate. (goes down R.C.) I wasn’t aware I had an audience. I was simply endeavouring to convince Lord Normantower that a crotchet is not a quaver. I was not attempting to sing.

Bea. My love, you are too modest. I never heard you sing better. (Kate grimaces aside)

Nor. (aside) I think, I’d better turn the conversation. (Goes to R. of sofa) How is Philip, this evening?

Kate. Yes, how is Mr. Selwyn?

Bea. I’m glad to say, much stronger.

Nor. That’s good news. I was afraid, as Sir Peter did not dine with us, your husband was worse.

Bea. Sir Peter has been with him all the afternoon, and has announced his intention of remaining till he has solved the mystery of Philip’s illness. It is really very kind of Sir Peter.

Kate. Sir Peter is kindness itself. (returns to piano, and sits)

Bea. You can imagine what a satisfaction it is to me, to know that my husband is in such excellent care.

Nor. But has he formed no opinion as to what is the matter with Philip?

Bea. He seems to think, it is nothing worse than an aggravated case of dyspepsia, and he attaches the greatest importance to diet. He has forbidden poor Philip almost everything. Sir Peter is a little crotchety, but he is paying the greatest attention to the case. And he’s so clever! I am charmed with him. (Normantower crosses to piano, and stands R. of Kate who plays softly. Tom rises, crosses to Mildred and takes her hand. She rises, and they advance down a step R.C.)

Tom. (aside to Mildred) Could you die, Mildred?

Mil. I want to, Tom.

Tom. Then let’s die together!

Mil. Yes—but how?

Tom. I don’t know. That’s the worst of me. I’m so beastly ignorant.

Mil. There’s a pond at the bottom of the garden.

Tom. Is there?

Mil. Six feet deep.

Tom. Let’s go at once.

Mil. And throw ourselves in?

Tom. We’ll have a look at it first. (exit with Mildred R.C. to R.)

(Philip heard off L. Kate stops playing.)

Kate. Surely that’s Mr. Selwyn! (Beatrice rises and goes across up to opening R.C., following Tom and Mildred)

(Sir Peter heard off L.)

Nor. Here they are, both of them.

Enter Philip, followed by Sir Peter, L.D. Sir Peter goes down L., puts snuff-box on mantel, and stands with back to fire; Philip comes to C. up stage, Kate rises and meets him.

Kate. You, Mr. Selwyn. Then you’re better!

Phil. Yes—feeling another man. I’ve even been attending to business, with my solicitor. (Kate turns away up to R.C.) I must admit, Sir Peter’s treatment is justified by the result, but I can’t say I altogether relish it. (to Normantower) What do you think he’s giving me? (down, front of sofa)

Nor. What? (advances to C.)

Phil. Arsenic. (sitting on sofa)

Nor. Gracious me! (Beatrice comes down, and sits R. by piano)

Kate. (comes down, L. of Beatrice) Arsenic! That’s nothing! Many ladies take it.

Nor. Ladies take arsenic! (turning to Kate)

Kate. Don’t they, Mrs. Selwyn?

Bea. I should hope not, Miss Derwent.

Kate. You never heard of such a thing, of course?

Nor. What do they take it for?

Sir P. My dear young gentleman, have you lived six and twenty years without discovering that the female complexion is usually an artificial product?

Nor. Well, I know a powder-puff when I see one, but arsenic! (turns up a little C. with Kate)

Sir P. Pooh! a common drug!

Bea. Miss Derwent, so sorry to trouble you—but the night dews are falling, and Mildred has gone out without a shawl.

Kate. I’ll get one at once. (exit, R., upper door)

Nor. Yes—we’ll get one at once. (exit, R.U.D.)

(Directly Normantower is off, Price and Servant re-enter, R.U.D., with coffee, which they offer to Beatrice, who is sitting R. by piano.)

Phil. I must say, I agree with Normantower. When you told me what you were giving me, it was rather a shock even to me, and it nearly frightened poor Beatrice out of her life.

Bea. Philip, don’t speak of it. (takes coffee) Don’t you remember what happened?

Phil. You broke a glass.

Bea. And breaking glass is so unlucky.

(Servants cross and offer coffee to Philip, who takes a cup without milk and sugar, Sir Peter not noticing. They then pass behind to Sir Peter, who takes coffee. Price clears Kate’s cup from the table, then crosses, followed by Servant and exeunt R.U.D.)

Phil. Mousey, you’ll make Sir Peter laugh at you. (Normantower talks to Kate)

Sir P. Why should I?

Phil. Surely you don’t believe in luck? (takes coffee)

Sir P. Everybody believes in luck, except fools, who attribute their successes to their merits. My experience teaches me differently. I know, one may study a case for a week, and master it only by accident—as I have mastered yours. (exeunt Servants)

Bea. (rises) You’ve mastered Philip’s? (goes to C.)

Sir P. Yes. As I suspected. Liver.

Bea. Ah! Then, after all, it is only dyspepsia?

Sir P. (L.) Only dyspepsia, madam! What’s the word suffering from?—vice—crime—drink—poverty? What are they all? Indigestion.

Phil. My wife means, nothing dangerous—one can hardly die of dyspepsia.

Sir P. Sir, one can die of anything. If you only knew the number of things one can die of, you’d wonder any of us are alive. (Philip laughs and lifts his cup to drink) What have you there? (going up to back of table)

Phil. Only some coffee.

Sir P. Put it down, sir, instantly. (hand on table)

Bea. Mayn’t he have coffee, doctor?

Sir P. (crosses behind sofa to C.) Coffee! Most indigestible! Have I not given my orders? He is to taste nothing more to-day, except one dose of medicine before going to bed. (Beatrice goes to piano, puts her cup down and picks up her fan)

Phil. Another dose, to-night?

Sir P. One more; it’s most important. (rises)

Bea. Is Mr. Merivale still here? (at piano)

Phil. Oh no, he went some time ago.

Bea. (quickly) Then have you made the will?

Phil. Not yet. (Sir Peter watches Beatrice closely) Merivale insists on making his own inquiries before taking any other steps in the matter. If Sir Peter’s information is confirmed, he will accept my instructions. I am to see him again at twelve o’clock to-morrow.

Bea. Twelve o’clock?

Sir P. Now you must rest. You’ve had a trying day (hand on Philip’s shoulder) (Philip rises and stands back to audience)

Bea. (Beatrice advances to Sir Peter) You needn’t trouble, doctor. I will go with Philip.

Sir P. Thank you—it is no trouble. Come, my boy. (Philip takes his R. arm, and they go up)

Phil. (up L.C.) How can I repay you for all your attention?

Sir P. By obeying me to the letter. Diet’s the great thing; and the less the better. Eat nothing—drink nothing.

Phil. But one dose of medicine.

Sir P. Just one more. (exit with Philip, L.U.D., music in orchestra)

Bea. (behind sofa, R. of it) One more! My last chance—and I dare not take it. At twelve o’clock to-morrow, all I have worked for, all I have schemed for, all I have married for, slips through my fingers. (gets front of sofa) And I can do nothing! No, it is too dangerous; and if I stop now, I am safe enough. But what is safety worth? Tied to my husband for his life, and at his death, a pauper! Whilst she—she will be the Countess of Normantower! Unless—unless—(sits on sofa smiling to herself). He doesn’t know that she is Philip’s sister. It is arranged it shall be kept a secret. Then, why is Philip leaving her his fortune? If I could make him think there was another reason. He is in love, and love is always jealous. If I could only sow a doubt between them. Countess of Normantower! What I have thrown away! (music stops)

Re-enter Normantower, R.U.D.

Nor. (goes to C.) It’s all right. We’ve found the shawl.

Bea. Did it take two to find it?

Nor. It took two to look for it. Miss Derwent looked everywhere for the shawl, and I looked everywhere for Miss Derwent.

Bea. You are great friends.

Nor. Oh, yes; we get along splendidly. I like Miss Derwent! she is just my sort.

Bea. I thought you hated all women.

Nor. On the contrary, I am never so happy as in the society of ladies.

Bea. You, who are always raving against marriage.

Nor. That’s the reason. To marry is to devote oneself to an individual; whilst a bachelor can devote himself to the sex. Besides, I have to study economy—and it comes cheaper on taking a quantity.

Bea. Perhaps, you are right. Marriage is a terrible lottery.

Nor. You should be thankful you have drawn a prize.

Bea. Don’t mock me.

Nor. I’m sure you couldn’t have a better husband than Philip. He’s one of the best fellows in the world.

Bea. Ah! there’s only one prize—to a woman.

Nor. (aside) She means me. (two steps away)

Bea. All the rest are blanks. And sometimes worse than blanks.

Nor. (aside) This is damn’d awkward! (a further movement R.C.)

Bea. (rises) Lord Normantower, I owe you an explanation which I have had no opportunity of giving you. Your time is so much occupied, and we are so seldom alone.

Nor. (aside, R.C.) I wish somebody’d come!

Bea. (C.) When you first came to Ravenhurst, I made what must have seemed a very strange avowal.

Nor. Mrs. Selwyn, I have tried to forget it, and I hope you will assist me. And the best way to forget it, is not to say anything about it.

Bea. I have tried to be silent—but in justice to myself, I must speak. You know my marriage was not my own wish; but having married, do me the justice to believe I would have been a true and loyal wife, if Philip had been all you think he is.

Nor. Philip?

Bea. I have accepted my lot without a murmur. Even now, my only wish is that you should not think too harshly of my indiscretion; but at the sight of you, the old times came back so vividly, that words sprang to my lips which I should not have spoken, even under such provocation as mine.

Nor. I have known Philip nearly all my life, and this is the first breath I ever heard against him. I can’t help thinking you must be mistaken.

Bea. Think so—by all means think so! I do not ask for pity or for sympathy. I only said so much in self-defence. Now I have done. (goes to L.)

Nor. (aside) Thank goodness!

Bea. But you are quite right to remain a bachelor. Marriage is a mistake. (sitting in easy chair L.)

Nor. (goes to L.C.) There are two ways of looking at it; and, after all, one ought to see both sides. I’ve looked at one for so long, I’m seriously thinking of taking a turn at the other. (sits on sofa)

Bea. You contemplate being married?

Nor. Well, I have had some thoughts of it. (toying with Beatrice’s fan which she has left on sofa)

Bea. Whom shall I have the pleasure of congratulating?

Nor. Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t asked her yet—at least, not properly. I’m sort of—feeling my way.

Bea. I don’t think you need fear.

Nor. D’you think she’ll have me—really!

Bea. Of course, I don’t know who the lady is.

Nor. Oh, yes you do, Miss Derwent.

Bea. (rises suddenly) Miss Derwent?

Nor. Yes, of course. You must have seen I’m awfully gone on her.

Bea. And you propose to marry her.

Nor. Well I should like to.

Bea. (drops back into seat) What am I to say?

Nor. What do you mean?

Bea. Nothing. I only meant—rather a mésalliance, isn’t it?

Nor. I don’t see that at all. I’m no great catch. I’m as poor as a church mouse.

Bea. A coronet is something.

Nor. Pooh! What’s a coronet? A thing they stick about on hansom cabs. Sixpence a mile.

Bea. And don’t you owe a duty to your family?

Nor. My family owe a great deal more to me, but there’s precious little chance of their stumping up.

Bea. (rises) Let me see. How long have you known Miss Derwent? (front of table)

Nor. About a week. (R. end of sofa, facing her)

Bea. And don’t you think it’s dangerous, to marry on so short an acquaintance?

Nor. To marry anybody else, it would be. Not to marry her.

Bea. Have you told Philip?

Nor. No—what’s he to do with it?

Bea. (crosses to R.C.) Nothing, of course! No, nothing. Why should I tell you! (hand on chair L. of piano) Why should I publish my own humiliation? And yet, we are such old friends, how can I stand by, and see your whole life ruined? No! Lord Normantower, this marriage is impossible. (goes towards Lord Normantower)

Nor. (rises) I don’t see that at all.

Bea. You are in love, and blind! Has it never struck you? Why is Miss Derwent here?

Nor. Isn’t she Mildred’s governess?

Bea. Mildred requires no governess.

Nor. Well, her companion—yours.

Bea. Mine! My companion! Yes, you are right there. Yes, my companion—in my husband’s heart. (goes down to R.C.)

Nor. Surely, you cannot mean—(follows a step)

Bea. My rival! Yes! I mean, that Philip is her lover.

Nor. Mrs. Selwyn!

Bea. Now I have told you my secret, and I leave it to your honour to respect it.

Nor. You accuse Miss Derwent—you accuse your husband——

Bea. Yes, I accuse them both. You know what happened this morning; Miss Derwent was going away, and my husband insisted on her remaining; but you don’t know what happened this afternoon. So mad is Philip’s infatuation that he is even making a new will, bequeathing her every shilling he possesses, leaving me an outcast and a beggar.

Sir Peter appears, L.D.—he observes them talking and goes into conservatory, L.C.

Nor. Surely you are mistaken. (backing a step)

Bea. I am not mistaken! Sir Peter knows of this will. He will tell you what I say is the truth. But not a word about my secret? I leave that to your honour. (crosses and goes up C. to L.C.)

Nor. (aside) I wish she wouldn’t leave my honour legacies. (turns up to opening, R.C.)

Sir Peter comes out from conservatory, L.C., intercepting Beatrice as she goes to door, L.

Sir P. Where are you going?

Bea. Only to sit with Philip. (going L.)

Sir P. (blocking the way) He is lying down, and must on no account be disturbed.

Bea. Surely a wife——

Sir P. Is the most likely person to disturb her husband.

Bea. (pushing past, viciously) Sir Peter, I will see him! (exit, L.D.)

Sir P. (aside, looking after her) But you can’t. (produces key, looks at it and replaces it in his pocket, then goes down L., and leans on mantel, on the opposite side of stage to Lord Normantower—both lost in thought)

Nor. (aside, leaning against column, R.C.) How can I ask Sir Peter? How can I say, has Selwyn made a will, leaving his wife a beggar? I know what his answer would be. “Sir, what the devil has that to do with you?” And yet it has a lot to do with me. I regard Miss Derwent’s reputation as my own, and I’m not going to have aspersions cast on it. If I could clear things up, I might be able to convince Mrs. Selwyn of her mistake. But how can I broach the subject? It’s a teazer. (sits up, R.C., in alcove)

Sir P. (sits L., aside) Now, what am I to do? Give her a chance, or nail her to the counter? If I gave her a chance, would she take it? Not she! She would appeal to her husband—he would believe her implicitly and kick me out of the house—there would be an end of me—and there would be an end of him. I must convict her—there’s no alternative. But how? If she plays any tricks to-night, I have her. But if she doesn’t? (blows his nose) She has me! Well, the first thing to be done is, to make things safe for the night.

Nor. (aside, rises and comes down a little) I have it! Sir Peter knows I’m poor—I’ll tell him I have thoughts of marrying, but I must marry money. I will inquire about Miss Derwent’s circumstances—say, I’ve heard a rumour. Then I shall find out all about this will. Sir Peter will think I’m an awful cad, but what does it matter what Sir Peter thinks? Upon my word, statesmanship is hereditary, after all. I feel a regular Machiavelli! (crosses to Sir Peter, aloud) Sir Peter! May I have a word with you? (R. of table)

Sir P. (watch) How long are you likely to be?

Nor. Only a second.

Sir P. That means half-an-hour. I limit my consultations to ten minutes.

Nor. Ten minutes, then.

Sir P. Go on.

Re-enter Kate, R.C. from R., unobserved, stops short on seeing them.

Nor. (sits on sofa) It is about Miss Derwent.

Sir P. Oh, Miss Derwent! (Sir Peter rises, takes snuff-box on mantel—and sits again L.)

Kate. (aside, smiling) He’s talking about me. I should like to know what he thinks of me. It’s a mean thing to do—but I’ll do it—just for fun. (retires into conservatory, and crosses, going off L.U.E.)

Sir P. Well, sir.

Nor. You know Miss Derwent very well, I think?

Sir P. Very well indeed—go on! (leaning back)

Nor. She’s all right, isn’t she?

Sir P. All right? (starting forward)

Nor. I mean, there isn’t a screw loose anywhere?

Sir P. Screw loose?

Nor. You know, I have some thoughts of marrying.

Sir P. Her!

Nor. Well, yes, of marrying her.

Sir P. (rises) Then marry her, and don’t bother me about it.

Nor. But I’m as poor as a rat, and I can’t afford——

Sir P. Then, don’t marry her. (crosses R.C.)

Nor. (rises and follows Sir Peter) But it has reached my ears, that Selwyn’s going to leave her everything. (Sir Peter pricks up his ears) If that is really so, it would suit my book to a T; and I thought you might know something about it.

Sir P. Well, sir?

Nor. And tell me.

Sir P. In what capacity? As a physician?

Nor. No—as a friend.

Sir P. As Mr. Selwyn’s friend—betray his confidence?

Nor. No—as my friend.

Sir P. But I am not your friend.

Nor. Well, as between two men of the world. Miss Derwent’s an awfully nice girl, but you know, one must look after the dibs.

Sir P. Sir, I may be a man of the world, or I may not, but I do not hold consultations in that capacity. Good evening. (going R.)

Nor. Sir Peter! One moment! (following. Exit Sir Peter, followed by Normantower, R.I.D. Kate staggers from conservatory, L.C., and drops into sofa, the picture of desolation.)

Re-enter Lord Normantower, R.I.D. Stops short on seeing Kate.

Nor. (R.C.) There she is. (stands looking at Kate)

Kate. (giving her eyes a final wipe and rising, aside) I don’t care. (pockets handkerchief)

Nor. (goes to her) Miss Derwent, you’ve been crying. Something’s the matter.

Kate. Don’t trouble about me. I’m “all right.”

Nor. “All right?” (aside) Do sit down!

Kate. Thanks, I prefer to stand.

Nor. But I don’t like you to stand.

Kate. I’m sorry if my attitude is not sufficiently elegant to satisfy your lordship’s fastidious taste.

Nor. Miss Derwent!

Kate. But I was not born graceful. I don’t think I was properly finished off. Nature has left “a screw loose” somewhere. (crosses R.)

Nor. (C.) “A screw loose?” (nonplussed)

Kate. What perplexes your lordship? (sits R. by piano)

Nor. (goes to her) Miss Derwent, tell me—why did you ever want to leave Ravenhurst? Don’t think me impertinent. I have a reason for asking.

Kate. And I had a reason for leaving.

Nor. Were you uncomfortable?

Kate. Oh dear, no! Mr. Selwyn has always insisted on my being treated with every consideration.

Nor. Ah! Philip thinks a lot of you, doesn’t he?

Kate. I think, he likes me. I don’t know about “a lot.”

Nor. Perhaps you felt yourself in rather a false position?

Kate. (rises) What do you mean?

Nor. Nothing—I only meant—I don’t know what I meant.

Kate. Perhaps I thought, that I might better my position.

Nor. But if you were so comfortable——

Kate. Comfort isn’t everything. Ravenhurst’s an awfully nice place: but—(facing him) “You know, one must look after the dibs.”

Nor. (stands dumbfounded—pause) Then, you heard my conversation with Sir Peter?

Kate. Every word of it.

Nor. Well, it serves me right. (goes down to C.)

Kate. (advances towards him) And me as well—for listening—but I’m glad I did. Now, I know what you are, and what you want. You are for sale! Heart, soul, mind, body and estate—without reserve, and open to all bidders. I am only a governess—I have no money to buy you, and I don’t want to buy you! Knock yourself down to anyone you please! What do I care? (a step or two away)

Nor. Hear me, one moment. I have been misled. (follows)

Kate. (turns sharply on him) And so have I. I thought, at last, that I had met a man!—A man whom I could love——

Nor. Miss Derwent! (enraptured)

Kate. Whom I could honour—whom I could even obey!

Nor. Kate! (holds out his hands)

Kate. (smacks his hands down and draws back up stage, R.C., a step; during speech, she backs towards R.U.D.) Don’t call me “Kate.” It wasn’t you. It was another man altogether—a creature of my fancy—whom I had met in dreams—but whom I loved—with such a love as never entered into your sordid soul—for whom I would have died—for whom I would have worked, toiled, slaved, from morning until night—who possessed the whole heart of a woman who has never loved before, but who has cast it from him and has broken it! (at door; exit, R.U.D.)

Nor. My last appearance as Machiavelli! (goes to L.)

Re-enter Tom moodily, R.C. from R.

Tom. (comes down C.) I don’t like the look of the pond.

Nor. What pond? What are you talking about?

Tom. Oh, by the bye, I haven’t told you what we’re going to do.

Nor. Who’s going to do?

Tom. Why, me and Mildred. Drown ourselves. At least we were going to drown ourselves, until we saw the pond. Now, we are going to think of something else.

Nor. (goes to Tom) Look here, Tom! it’s quite time little boys were in bed. You’ll have plenty of time to-morrow.

Tom. Ah! You don’t know what it is, to love—and get the key of the street!

Nor. Don’t I? I’ve got it.

Tom. You’ve got it, Ned?

Nor. Miss Derwent has just given it me.

Tom. I say, let’s drown one another! You go first! (puts Normantower across up towards R.U.D.)

Nor. No, thank you, Tom. I’ll go and make things up. (exit, R.U.D.)

Re-enter Sir Peter, R.I.D., lost in thought, he goes up a little, R.C.

Tom. (down C., turning—seeing Sir Peter) Sir Peter—the very man—I say, Sir Peter! (turns up to Sir Peter)

Sir P. Mr. Verinder?

Tom. Aren’t you a doctor?

Sir P. I had the honour to belong to the medical profession before you were born.

Tom. A lot of things seem to have happened before I was born—and everybody takes care to let me know it.

Sir P. It is impossible to know too much.

Tom. Then, tell me. What’s the pleasantest way of committing suicide?

Sir P. Hem! The question is scarcely usual. I regret to say, the etiquette of my profession precludes me from replying. (mock bow. Goes up C.)

Tom. Pompous old ass! I don’t believe he knows. (goes to L.C.)

Re-enter Mildred, R.U.D., with an open book in her hand.

Mil. Tom, Tom! (comes down R.C.)

Tom. What’s that you’ve got?

Mil. “Kennedy on Poisons.” (reading from book. Sir Peter listens) I found it in Miss Derwent’s dressing-room.

Tom. Just what we wanted—let me have a look.

Sir P. (advancing) Give me that book. (between them. Mildred draws book away)

Tom. But it’s not hers—it’s——

Sir P. (peremptorily) Give that book to me. (Mildred gives it him) How dare you take this from Miss Derwent’s dressing-room?

Mil. (begins to cry) I didn’t know that I was doing wrong. Mousey is always at Miss Derwent’s bookcase.

Tom. How dare you take that from Miss Selwyn! Is it yours? (facing him boldly)

Sir P. By force of arms.

Tom. Force is not argument.

Sir P. (in a voice of thunder) Go away, boy, go! (points R. Tom collapses, crosses to Mildred, and exit with Mildred R.I.D. quickly)

Sir P. (sits on sofa) “Kennedy—Poisons”—(opens fly-leaf) “Kate Derwent—from her friend, the Author—Guy’s Hospital, 17th April, 1888.” Kennedy’s pet lamb! Gives it right and left, and not got through the first edition yet. Nothing remarkable in that. But why does it open at arsenic? “Mousey is always at Miss Derwent’s book-case.”

Re-enter Price, R.I.D.

Pri. Mr. Learoyd, the chemist, is here, sir.

Sir P. (rises) I’ll see him at once. (Price is going. Sir Peter goes to him) Stop—give this key to your mistress, with my compliments. (gives Price the key) You’ll find her in her room. (crosses and exit R.I.D.)

Price crosses and knocks at door L. and withdraws to L.C. up stage. Re-enter Beatrice, L. after a pause, she has medicine bottle and wine-glass in her hand.

Bea. What is it?

Pri. Sir Peter told me to give you this, madam, with his compliments. (gives key and goes R. towards upper door)

Bea. (aside) The key! (goes down L. Aloud) Price! I am going to bed. I shall not want Johnson. Put all the lights out, lock the outer door of the conservatory, and make up the house.

Pri. Yes, madam, but Sir Peter——

Bea. Do as I tell you.

Music in orchestra. Beatrice has put medicine and glass on table, and stands in front of table, deep in thought. Price puts out lamp on piano, then the one in conservatory, lower lights, then disappears R.U.E. A lock is heard to turn. Re-enter Price, R.C., he goes to R.U.D.

Pri. Good-night, madam.

Bea. Good-night. (exit Price. Beatrice crosses and locks R.U.D. Up R.C., looking at key) Then, he does not suspect me! When I found Philip’s door locked, I was half afraid. Why am I such a coward?—Is he with Philip? (exit L., music swells. Re-enter L.) No! Philip is fast asleep. Can he be watching? (goes down to R.I.D.) No! (opens door R., looks out, then shuts and locks it) Good night, Sir Peter! pleasant dreams to you! (stands looking at the key) He suspects nothing. (goes to L.C., R. of table. Produces medicine bottle and glass and pours out a dose) It is a great temptation! (produces phial from bosom) Strange! how this fascinates me! With my life at stake, I scarcely can resist it. It possesses me! But, I suppose, I dare not. (music dies away, knock at door R.) Who can that be? (second knock, aloud) Who’s there?

Sir P. (off) It’s I—Sir Peter Lund! (she puts away the phial)

Bea. What an escape! (unlocks the door and smiles sweetly) Come in, Sir Peter. (enter Sir Peter, R.I.D., leaving door ajar and holding the book behind his back) I was just getting Philip’s medicine. (goes to L., crossing behind sofa and table)

Sir P. (R.C.) So I see. (aside) It’s all right. I’m in time—(puts book down on piano)

Bea. I scarcely expected to see you again to-night. Do you want Philip? (on knees, mending fire)

Sir P. No, Mrs. Selwyn, it is you I want. (goes to C.)

Bea. Me?

Sir P. I have something of the greatest importance to tell you. First, let me make sure that my patient cannot overhear us. (goes towards L.D., back of sofa)

Bea. (rises) He was asleep just now. (goes up L. to door)

Sir P. But he may have awakened.

Bea. Shall I see?

Sir P. Thank you. (she goes L. and exits. Sir Peter watches her off, then goes to back of table and tastes the medicine in the glass, he puts it down, turns quickly, back to door L. signals towards door R., which he has left ajar; enter Kate, R.I.D.) Into there! (pointing to conservatory) Quick! (off R.C.)

Kate. But what am I to do? Why have you brought me here? (going up R.C., Sir Peter L. of her)

Sir P. Keep your ears open, and you’ll understand. (exit Kate into conservatory, R., Kate in conservatory upsets a pot) That’s her confounded train.

Re-enter Beatrice, L.D., comes down L. to L.C.

Bea. What was that noise?

Sir P. (at door of conservatory) Ten thousand pardons: I’ve upset a flowerpot. (comes down to C.)

Bea. You’ve been in the conservatory?

Sir P. Yes—to make sure that nobody was listening. In a case like this, one cannot be too careful.

Bea. Sir Peter, you alarm me. What dreadful secret are you going to tell me? (goes to sofa)

Sir P. (R. of her) Mrs. Selwyn, you are a woman of strong nerves, and you can bear a shock.

Bea. I think so.

Sir P. Well, I’m going to give you one—I’ve found it!

Bea. What?

Sir P. The serpent.

Bea. The serpent?

Sir P. Which Mr. Selwyn said did not exist, but the existence of which I suspected from the first.

Bea. A serpent in Ravenhurst?

Sir P. And a remarkably fine specimen, it turns out to be. Your husband is being poisoned. (Beatrice taken off her guard, reels, and sinks on sofa) I can quite understand your emotion.

Bea. Poisoned?

Sir P. By arsenic, administered in his medicine.

Bea. But you put it there yourself. You told him, you were giving him arsenic.

Sir P. I was not. (Beatrice gazes at him as if fascinated) I did not prescribe arsenic.

Bea. Might not the chemist—by mistake——

Sir P. I’ve seen him, and he assures me there was no mistake. Besides, though there was arsenic in the glass, there was none in the bottle. While you were all having your dinner, I took the liberty of analysing that. Mr. Selwyn is now in such a condition that the next dose may be fatal. The first thing to be done is, to protect his life. I have not left him since morning; but at the precise moment when the criminal, whoever it is, will probably administer the poison, I shall not be there to prevent it, because that moment will be when he takes the final dose of physic which I have ordered him, just before going to bed.

Bea. And knowing this, you have ordered it?

Sir P. With the object of detecting the culprit. Here I want your assistance. We must lay our plans carefully; for whoever is doing this, she is a very clever woman.

Bea. (rises) Woman! Then, you suspect—(bell ready)

Sir P. (business) Miss Derwent. (Beatrice starts) What was that? (no noise heard)

Bea. (astonished) Miss Derwent!

Sir P. I thought I heard a noise in the conservatory.

Bea. No one is there. The doors have been locked.

Sir P. Someone may have opened them. Let us make sure. (goes into the conservatory R.C., disappears R., re-enters in a moment and comes down to C.)

Bea. Miss Derwent! (down stage front of sofa)

Sir P. (returning) Only the flower pot—caught in a plant, which must have given way. (gets R. of sofa)

Bea. Well? You were saying——

Sir P. I suspect Miss Derwent—She has, as humanity goes, a powerful incentive to this crime. On Mr. Selwyn’s death, she expects to come into a large fortune.

Bea. Not until he has made a will in her favour.

Sir P. He said he would make it to-day. She heard him say so, and she knows that he has seen his solicitor.

Bea. (sits on sofa) Yes, but my husband has been ill some weeks. Miss Derwent had nothing to gain by his death until this will was made.

Sir P. (sitting R. of her) Therefore, she has not killed him. The process has been admirably timed. She began to compass his death when she had nothing to gain by it, and therefore was not open to suspicion; and on the point of its consummation, adroitly threw herself upon his generosity. You must admit the ingenuity of the scheme.

Bea. But the evidence?

Sir P. That is where you must help me. It is incomplete. But it is obvious enough, the criminal, whoever it is, is familiar with the properties of arsenic, which are not so simple as is commonly supposed. A bungler would have killed him long ago; but Miss Derwent is half a doctor. She was at Guy’s for years. She is a particular friend of Dr. Kennedy’s—and, strongest evidence of all, his book on toxicology is here—(rises, crosses to piano, takes book, and recrosses to back of sofa, R. of it) inscribed with her name—and has evidently been considerably studied. (gives book to Beatrice) Especially, one chapter.

Bea. Which is that?

Sir P. Open it.

Bea. “Arsenic”!

Sir P. Look at the title page.

Bea. “Kate Derwent—from her friend, the Author.”

Sir P. (takes book again) I submit that the case against her is one of the gravest suspicion (crosses to back of table, L. of it)

Bea. Then you accuse your friend and protégée.

Sir P. Science has no friendships. Someone is poisoning your husband. I suspect Miss Derwent. (Kate appears momentarily R.C.) Accept my theory or reject it—(raises his voice, to make sure Kate can hear him) Watch that glass! If anybody touches it——

Bea. Who can, but me! When you have gone, and I have locked the door, no one can get into this room to-night. Where is this poison coming from?

Sir P. Wherever it comes from, I know where it goes; into that glass. Therefore, please, watch the glass! If anybody tampers with it, ring this bell. (indicates bell pull, going towards it up R.)

Bea. (rises) What, the alarm-bell? (goes to C.)

Sir P. It will rouse the house. A miscreant will be brought to justice, and your husband’s life will be saved. (comes down R.C.)

Bea. If no one touches it?

Sir P. He is safe for to-night, at any rate. Madam, I have the honour to wish you a very good evening. (exit, R.I.D.)

Music in orchestra.

Bea. (locks door after him, and breaks into a low, hollow laugh) Thank you, Sir Peter! thank you very much! (goes to C.) The case you have begun, I will complete. Now, I can not only save myself, but triumph! If I convict Miss Derwent of this crime, the will must be abandoned. (gets R. of table, Kate appears R.C., watching her) It is worth some risk! I can but fail: and if I do—(produces phial, and pours the contents into the medicine, laughing) I’ll make this strong enough. There! Now to bring Miss Derwent. I will say Philip’s dying, and has asked to see her. Then I will rouse the house, and she shall be found here—alone with this! (goes to R.C.) Sir Peter will corroborate me, Philip will be convinced, and my Lord Normantower—ha, ha!—can marry her! Thank you, Sir Peter, thank you! (unlocks door, and exit, R.I.D.)

Kate. Oh! (in opening, R.C.)

Phil. (off L.) Beatrice!

Kate. My brother’s voice—if I were found here now!

Phil. (nearer) Beatrice!

(Kate retreats out of sight, R.)

Enter Philip, L.D. (Philip goes down L. to L.C.)

Phil. Not here? Where can she be? (watch) Good gracious, I’ve been asleep for nearly three hours. (yawning) Well, I suppose she won’t be very long; (Kate appears again, watching Philip, who sits on sofa) Ah, there’s the medicine! That last dose, which old Lund said was so particular. I’d forgotten all about it. But Mousey hadn’t. She forgets nothing—nothing! (rises) Well, the sooner I take it, the sooner it’s over. (about to drink)

Kate. (rushing forward) Philip! Stop! (music stops)

Phil. Kate? (sets down the glass)

Kate. It’s poison! (R. of sofa)

Phil. Poison?

Re-enter Beatrice, R.I.D.

Kate. Yes! (hysterically) She is killing you!

Phil. (confounded) Who?

Kate. Beatrice! (Philip drops into sofa) Your wife! (sobs at his feet. Philip sits as if stunned. Beatrice stands, surveying them. Pause. Beatrice rings the alarm bell—Kate springs to her feet. Re-enter Sir Peter, R.I.D. Kate goes up to C., Philip rises and goes L. Lights worked up imperceptibly)

Sir P. Who rang the bell? (crosses to R. of table)

Re-enter Lord Normantower, R.I.D.

Bea. I rang!

Nor. (R.C.) What is the matter?

Bea. Sir Peter, you were right. This girl is poisoning my husband. (comes down to C.)

Phil. Beatrice! (goes to fire, and leans on mantel)

Kate. Oh!

Sir P. Let Mrs. Selwyn speak. (calmly tests the medicine by finger and gets to back to table, placing glass down there)

Bea. You asked me to watch, and I have watched. I found her hidden here. My husband was about to drink this stuff——

Phil. When she prevented me——

Bea. Because, of course, she heard my conversation with Sir Peter. Knowing she was suspected, she has sought to cast this horrible suspicion upon me!

Kate. Philip—I saw her!

Bea. Since I poured out that draught, I have not touched it.

Kate. Oh! (retreating up L.C.)

Bea. If it is poisoned—she has poisoned it.

Sir P. But when? Besides, you would have seen her—you were watching. This was not poisoned, when I left the room.

Bea. It must have been!

Sir P. I think not—and I tested it. (advances to C., behind sofa)

Bea. I didn’t see you.

Sir P. No—I took care you shouldn’t. (pause)

Bea. You suspected me!

Sir P. From the beginning.

Bea. This is a plot to ruin me! (Beatrice crosses to Philip who disregards her. Sir Peter goes to R.C., L. of Lord Normantower) Philip, you don’t believe this hideous charge? (Philip makes no movement—she draws back, up L. to back of table, and stands at bay) What was Miss Derwent doing in the room? If she is innocent, why was she hiding here?

Sir P. Perhaps I can throw some light upon that matter. (Beatrice confronts Sir Peter) I brought Miss Derwent here. (going up to C., Kate comes to him)

Bea. You brought her—when?

Sir P. When you were in the other room, naturally. I took the liberty of putting her into the conservatory, where, you will remember, she had the misfortune to upset a flower-pot.

Bea. I understand. You laid a trap for me?

Sir P. I took that liberty.

Bea. And you say, this is poisoned?

Sir P. I should think, fatally.

Bea. If I am guilty, why do I not get rid of it? You have given me plenty of opportunity.

Sir P. For a very excellent reason. Because you are quite clever enough to know, that to do so would be an admission of your crime.

Bea. I am not guilty, and this (takes up glass) is not poison.

Sir P. Sorry I am to contradict you——

Bea. See! I will prove it! (drinks the poison and throws glass down behind her, it smashes. Movement from Sir Peter, Normantower and Philip)

Sir P. Mrs. Selwyn!

Bea. You are too late, Sir Peter. (goes up) Now—good night to all of you. (curtseying. Exit L., followed by Sir Peter)

Nor. (to Philip) What was the object? (crosses to C. As Normantower crosses he holds out his hand to Kate, which she accepts, Kate being L. of him, R. of sofa)

Phil. Normantower, Kate is my sister. The fortune which I have enjoyed for years is hers, and I was anxious to restore it. The object was, to prevent me. (music in orchestra) Oh, Kate, my heart is broken! (Kate goes to R. of Philip and kneels)

Kate. But time will heal it, Philip; for your heart is good; goodness and happiness are not strangers long.

Re-enter Sir Peter, L.D.

Phil. Only to think, this woman is my wife!

Sir P. (gently laying his hand on Philip’s shoulder) But not for long. And she is better dead!

MUSIC FORTE.

Moderate Curtain.

Time (Act) forty-two minutes. Time for whole, including waits, two hours, six minutes.