Chapter V: Act V

+Scene+: _The parlour at Watchett Hill Farm. There is a fire in the
grate and a large, dog-eared arm-chair beside it. A kettle stands
upon the hob. Red curtains have taken the place of the old ones. The
walls are newly papered and the room has become comfortable in every
way. The pictures are set straight; there is a new carpet on the
floor. Two small lamps stand on the mantelpiece. In a corner, on a
little table, is a big photograph of_ +William Arscott+ _in a showy
frame. The time is night._ +Joseph Westaway+ _discovered walking up
and down the room. He exhibits deep anxiety and looks at his watch.
Then he goes to the window and throws it open. There is bright
moonlight outside._

+Westaway.+ [_Calling into the night._] Be that you, Barbara?

+Barbara.+ Yes, father. I’m waiting for William.

+Westaway.+ Surely to God the news be out. ’Tis almost more than a body can bear to bide like this!

[_Enter_ +Barbara+. _She looks round the room, shakes a curtain,
and moves a lamp._

+Barbara.+ He won’t know this room, William won’t. Light your pipe, father; don’t tramp the new carpet. You can’t hasten it.

+Westaway.+ I’ve a’most lost sight of all our blessings afore these terrible times at Harter.

+Barbara.+ We must have another lamp--to show up this corner--just for once. We’ll have a blaze--to please William.

+Westaway.+ [_Going to window._] The verdict and sentence were to be out hours agone.

+Barbara.+ Don’t fuss yourself, my old dear. Very likely William will have heard. And I do hope you’ll show him your grateful feelings, father. There’s more than five pounds gone on this room.

+Westaway.+ He knows all I feel about it. Either Joshua Bloom was to come over first thing, or else Nathaniel Tapp. Mrs. Tapp promised faithful one should come the moment they heard.

+Barbara.+ If ’tis good news, Nathaniel will bring it; if ’tis bad, you may count on Bloom. [_Goes to door and calls off._] Salome, fetch in the little pink lamp, will ’e? I want a bit more light, to show William all we’ve done in the parlour.

+Westaway.+ I think more of Michael than her. She’s made her peace with God whatever happens--but him--poor wretch! The world be very empty for him now.

+Barbara.+ I don’t pity him. He’d have killed his brother himself in another moment, and he never denied it. [_Enter_ +Salome+ _with a lamp_.] ’Tis that poor, dead, weak-witted Jesse I’m sorry for--not Michael--nor yet his mother. Put it here--to show up William’s photo. My! we do look fine! Don’t you forget to say a word of thanks, Salome.

+Westaway.+ [_At window._] There’s a man coming now and travelling fast.

+Barbara.+ ’Tis William if he goeth quickly. They chaps from Harter be slow as beetles.

[_Goes out._

+Westaway.+ Don’t keep him if he’s got the news. It have been a terrible day. I hope I’ll never be called to live through such another. All suffer for evil--none can stand alone afore it.

[_Enter_ +William+ _and_ +Barbara+.

+Barbara.+ William hasn’t heard. It wasn’t known when he came away.

[_Exit_ +Salome+.

+Arscott.+ [_Looking round._] Well, my old bird, what do ’e think of this? ’Tis a bit braver than it used to be--eh? We’ll have a pianer yet, instead of that ‘roarer’ in the corner.

+Westaway.+ ’Tis a royal palace, William! ’Tis a dazzling scene, and us shan’t never go or come without blessing you, I’m sure.

+Arscott.+ [_Lighting his pipe._] Pretty clever, no doubt--thanks to my purse and Barbara’s fingers. Well, the wedding’s in sight, Joe.

+Westaway.+ I know--I know. Thank God my girl won’t be far off. You must let her come up every day of her life, William--aye, and sleep sometimes in her old chamber.

+Arscott.+ So she shall. When we quarrel, I’ll pack her off to you.

+Barbara.+ It takes two to quarrel, Billy.

+Westaway.+ I ban’t all I could wish to-night, along of the fearful trouble in the air. A very terrible thing, and till we know how ’tis to end, there’s no peace for anybody.

[_Exit._

+Arscott.+ ’Twill be brought in manslaughter--no worse than that. [_Sits in a big chair by the fire._] Come and pitch on my lap, Barbara--there’s a dear. I like to feel the fine weight of ’e. Only a fortnight now! You don’t want to cry off your bargain?

+Barbara.+ [_Puts out the lamp in the corner._] Cry off? Not I--I love you dearer and dearer, William.

+Arscott.+ A mortal pity you wasted ten years, Barbara.

+Barbara.+ We’ll make up for ’em!

[_She sits on his knee and he kisses her and rubs his face
against hers._

+Arscott.+ How’s your sister going on? This must have shook her a bit. To think of her nipping down in cold blood to give that woman up!

+Barbara.+ ’Twasn’t in cold blood--’twas in hot. She won’t tell about it and ’tis too ticklish a subject for father or me. But I can see very well how ’twas really. Mrs. Redvers hungered terribly to give herself up--for the saving of her soul.

+Arscott.+ Yes, she’d feel like that, no doubt.

+Barbara.+ But her boys wouldn’t let her. They made her swear she never would. And then Jesse, poor chap, goes daft and hits upon the thought to tell Salome and make her tell again--for his mother’s salvation.

+Arscott.+ A very clever thought, I call it.

+Barbara.+ Stark madness, knowing Michael.

+Arscott.+ Your sister must be made of tougher stuff than you, Barbara.

+Barbara.+ She’s a queer girl. I don’t know nothing about her inside her skin.

+Arscott.+ I wonder Michael didn’t strangle her.

[_The face of_ +Joshua Bloom+ _appears at the window_.

+Bloom.+ [_Clears his throat._ +Barbara+ _starts away, but_ +Arscott+ _holds her tightly_.] I ban’t looking.

+Arscott.+ ’Tis only that old night-bird from Harter. Come in, Joshua, come in!

[+Barbara+ _leaves her lover and goes to the door_.

+Barbara.+ He brings the news for certain. Oh, I hope ’tis good!

+Arscott.+ It can’t be good. Bad’s the best.

[+Barbara+ _hurries out_, +Arscott+ _rises and goes across_.

+Arscott.+ [_Calling off._] Here’s Joshua Bloom from Harter, Joe!

[_Enter_ +Barbara+ _followed by_ +Bloom+.

+Bloom.+ You must listen patient. I ban’t going to say it all anyhow and spoil it. ’Tis the chance of a lifetime to tell a tale like this.

+Barbara.+ Father’s cruel put about.

[_Enter_ +Joseph Westaway+ _followed by_ +Salome+.

+Westaway.+ Ah! Joshua--thank God you be here!

+Bloom.+ Sit you down--all of you--and let me stand in the midst with my solemn news. And don’t you try to hurry me, ’cause I won’t be hurried.

+Westaway.+ The Law--

+Bloom.+ I be ashamed of the Law! Tapp heard it first. A telegraph come to the Vicarage a good bit ago, but you know what a close man is reverence is. However, it slipped out of the back door to the people, and everybody knows it now.

+Arscott.+ Know’s what?

+Bloom.+ The jury was a bit soft and showed a very great sympathy with the prisoner, because the woman pleaded guilty. ‘Woman’ I call her; but of course to us she’s still Ann Redvers of Harter. And leaning to the side of mercy, they fetched it in manslaughter; because she said she never meant to kill him. The terrible judge believed it too, and the upshot is that she don’t die. That’s how the Law gets weaker and weaker--along of they baggering Dissenters! Five years of penal servitude Ann Redvers have been sent to; but they say, if she’s as good as gold in prison, they may let her free in less. I call it playing with justice and a poor look out for husbands; but that’s how it stands--a paltry five year!

[_All listen with varying interest._

+Westaway.+ Thank God! ’tis a cruel weight off my shoulders.

+Arscott.+ I’m sorry for her all the same.

+Bloom.+ More than she was for herself. I lay she feels very near as disappointed as what I do. ’Twas a mean-spirited sentence in my opinion.

+Westaway.+ She’ll sing in clink, like a caged lark, now her soul be saved.

+Bloom.+ No, she won’t. She’ll spend all her spare time on her knees praying for Jesse’s soul. His death shook her a bit, I can tell ’e.

+Westaway.+ And t’other woman’s name never come up in the argument?

+Bloom.+ None knows it. She must have found the newspapers pretty hot reading--eh?

+Barbara.+ She’ve had her wormwood, if she loved Anthony.

+Westaway.+ To think that one, nameless, scarlet female should be thrown into a family, like a cannonball, to kill off a generation and send strong men to the grave!

+Bloom.+ And I’ll dare swear the shameless wretch goes to church in her frill-de-dills with the best of us, and makes eyes at the males and has ’em trailing after her like a comet’s tail!

+Arscott.+ They ought to catch her and stone her. ’Tis she killed the men: ’tis her damned work.

+Bloom.+ They easy women will be up to any devilries ’tis said. Thank God I’ve ’scaped ’em.

+Arscott.+ Enough! ’Tis a thirsty subject and I want cheering.

[_Exit_ +Barbara+.

+Westaway.+ Have a drink afore you go, Joshua.

+Bloom.+ [_Picking up his hat._] Nay I’m for the village. This thing have got to be rolled on the tongue a bit yet.

+Arscott.+ You’re a snarling old dog, Bloom--poor company for a bridegroom.

+Bloom.+ I never can abide a hopeful fool.

+Westaway.+ But William’s right. Sorrow ban’t spilled over every page of life and we must laugh with the happy as well as mourn with the sad. Christ’s self could smile on a wedding.

[_Enter_ +Barbara+ _with glasses and bottle on tray_, +Salome+
_helps her_.

+Arscott.+ Aye, and help the feast and give the folk joy. Bloom here--he’d turn the wine into water if he could.

+Bloom.+ I won’t cry peace when there’s no peace; but if you ax me to the wedding, I’ll be there.

+Westaway.+ You shall come, Joshua Bloom.

+Bloom.+ Good-night all, then. And don’t number your chickens till they be hatched, hoss-doctor. You may be cut down afore the day yet.

[_Exit_ +Bloom+.

+Arscott.+ The tale be told, and us have all got to go on living, except them that are dead.

+Westaway.+ [_Getting a long churchwarden pipe from mantelshelf._] To think that big-hearted Anthony--so generous as the sun--so ready to bring happiness to young and old--

+Arscott.+ A man built of comfortabler mud I never neighboured with.

+Barbara.+ Always whistling, or else laughing. It warmed you to meet him on a winter day.

+Arscott.+ His light o’ love felt the same no doubt. I’ll warrant he was good to her. I’d give my best gaiters to know who ’twas.

[_Exit_ +Salome+.

+Barbara.+ [_Pouring water from the kettle._] You’ll have it hot, father?

+Westaway.+ Hot and strong both. This bit o’ work have knocked the stuffing out of me a lot. It cuts every way, for us all depend on each other, like the ears of corn in the harvest field, or the little bees in the butt.

+Arscott.+ It have hit your girl hard by the look of her.

+Westaway.+ It have. She done her duty and little thought what awful things would come of it.

+Barbara.+ She’s tongue-tied now. We never hear her voice. ’Tis like a dumb woman in the house.

+Arscott.+ ’Tis pretty well known that dead boy loved her.

+Barbara.+ But she cared nought for him.

+Arscott.+ Did you think it was right now, to bury the poor chap with Christian burial beside his father?

+Westaway.+ Most certain sure, William. The Lord turned him daft--poor soul--so as he should let out the secret to our Salome. That’s how I read it. Then she went hot-foot. And now she mourns in secret. But God willed it so.

[+Barbara+ _gives her father his drink_.

+Barbara.+ What will Michael do?

[_Gives_ +Arscott+ _his drink_.

+Arscott.+ Wait for her! Wait--on the prison steps if he could. Wait, if ’tis till the Trump of Doom. Let the world spin as it may, Time stands still for that man till he’s got his mother again.

[_Enter_ +Salome+.

+Barbara.+ [_Looking at_ +Salome+.] No more of it to-night, William.

+Arscott.+ You’re right, my sweeting; and if ’tis a crime to be cheerful, the Lord’ll forgive lovers. Stir my sugar with your finger.

[+Barbara+ _sits by_ +William Arscott+ _and sips his drink_.
+Salome+ _goes to window and looks out_.

+Barbara.+ Draw they curtains and shut out that gashly moonlight, Salome.

+Westaway.+ [_Going to_ +Salome+.] Us must cheer you up now, my Sally. ’Tis a brave, still night, and Halstock Glen full o’ fairies.

+Barbara.+ Full of ghosts I should think. [_Shivers._] I’ll swear there’s one haunted woman creeps there sometimes.

+Westaway.+ And belike poor Anthony doth walk, for ’tis said that spirits turn ever where they had their greatest joy.

+Arscott.+ Leave it, Joe! We don’t want the creeps! Enough, or I’ll be gone. It might be worse, and it couldn’t be better; so let them smart that deserve it, and we’ll thank the Lord ’tis nothing to us. Remember a fortnight hence.

[+Salome+ _still looks out at the moonlight. The other three
talk together. The men drink._

+Westaway.+ Of course I give her away. My Sunday black be equal to it--with a brave favour in the buttonhole.

+Barbara.+ But you must have a new hat, father. Your best one’s a disgrace.

+Arscott.+ ’Tis a pity if customers can’t furnish a hoss-doctor with carriages cheap on such a day. Grey hosses too! Us’ll be pulled for love by my grateful patients!

[_They laugh._

+Westaway.+ I be going to ask every one of they creditors to the feast.

+Barbara.+ You mustn’t call ’em creditors no more, father.

+Westaway.+ Thanks to William, here. A crown of glory, I’m sure, to owe no man anything and die so innocent as you was born.

[+Barbara+ _pours more drink_.

+Arscott.+ Let’s have a song! Come on, Barbara. I know you can sing with the best of ’em. Haven’t I watched you hollering in the choir to church scores o’ times?

+Barbara.+ Nay--nay--Salome’s our song-bird.

+Westaway.+ A rare gift she hath; but ’tis many a long day since she’ve sung to us now.

+Arscott.+ Sing Salome! Sing!

+Barbara.+ Do ’e, Sally, for old time’s sake.

[_They turn their heads and look at her. She still stares out
into the moonlight._

+Westaway.+ Sing, my little heart!

[+Salome+ _looks at them, and then looks out again into the
night. After a pause, she clasps her hands and sings, in a
far-away, gentle voice, to ears that are dust. Her listeners
feel an uneasy influence. They are chilled, look into each
other’s faces, and take no joy of the song._

+Salome.+

“Tom Pearce, Tom Pearce, lend me thy grey mare,
All along, down along, out along lee,
For I want for to go to Widecombe Fair,
Wi’ Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney,

[_Pause._

Old Uncle Tom Cobleigh and all--
Old Uncle Tom Cobleigh and all.”

_Curtain slowly descends while_ +Salome+ _sings_.

+Printed by+
BALLANTYNE & COMPANY LTD
AT THE BALLANTYNE PRESS
+Tavistock Street Covent Garden
London+

Transcriber’s notes

Some of the stage directions are placed at the end of a dialog line, but right aligned. In order to preserve this right alignment, these directions are turned into separate paragraphs.

As to spelling: the original is preserved as much as possible, also when the author is inconsistent. So one can encounter e.g. “armchair / arm-chair”, “hoss-doctor / hoss doctor”, “good-looking / good looking”, “now-a-days / nowadays”, “spring cleaning / spring-cleaning” etc. Furthermore some dialect is used.

However, in the cases listed below corrections have been made. These are obvious printing errors.

Page 6 “But you shan’t anger me with with” possibly a printing error. Not corrected; Page 7 period inserted after “Michael” in the stage directions; Page 11 “I’m a patient old blade. as we” _changed to_ “I’m a patient old blade, as we”; Page 19 “Her eyes are every where” _changed to_ “Her eyes are everywhere”; Page 19 period inserted at line end after “But how much to do”; Page 20 period inserted after “Takes off his hat and kisses her”; Page 34 “What’s your will, Anne” _changed to_ “What’s your will, Ann”; Page 36 “my meaning afore tis” _changed to_ “my meaning afore ’tis”; Page 36 period inserted after “There’s no common clay at all in you”; Page 38 “the knife that Anne dropped” _changed to_ “the knife that Ann dropped”; Page 45 period inserted after “Don’t whisper it to father”; Page 49 “like thicky band I stiched” _changed to_ “like thicky band I stitched”; Page 52 “I can eel your eyes in my back.” _changed to_ “I can feel your eyes in my back.”; Page 56 period inserted after “including two elderly women” in the stage directions; Page 57 period inserted after “[_Enter two more men._] Come in--come in”; Page 58 comma inserted after “And to yours--yours too”; Page 61 period inserted after “And if no choice--then no sin”; Page 61 small caps removed from “Salome” in the line “Suppose you’d done a thing in the past, Salome”; Page 62 open bracket inserted before “+Salome+” in the stage direction “+Salome+ _put her face down against the back of the sofa”; Page 64 period inserted after “+Barbara” in the line “+Barbara.+ [_Off._] Salome!”; Page 66 apostrophe inserted before “tis” in the line “Come, master, ’tis bedtime for you and me.”; Page 71 “Anne” _changed to_ “Ann” (twice) in the lines “[_Exit_ +Jesse+ _as_ +Ann+ _enters.” _and_ “+Ann.+ [_Standing still at sight of_ +Salome+.]”; Page 72 “[+Anne+ _drops her work and stares” _changed to_ “[+Ann+ _drops her work and stares”; Page 73 “know what is is to let the devil slip” _changed to_ “know what it is to let the devil slip”; Page 73 “[+Anne+ _lifts her hands to Heaven” _changed to_ “[+Ann+ _lifts her hands to Heaven”; Page 74 “+Anne.+ The messengers” _changed to_ “+Ann.+ The messengers”; Page 80 “b” inserted before “rother” in the line “He’d have killed his brother himself in another moment”; Page 86 “Good night all, then.” _changed to_ “Good-night all, then.”; Page 89 period inserted after “’em” in the line “I know you can sing with the best of ’em”.

The following conventions are used to represent markup in the text:

_word_ means that “word” is in italics; +word+ means that “word” is in small caps