Chapter XI: Part 11

TREBELL. But, you see, it would give Horsham and Blackborough such a shock if I shot myself . . it would make them think about things.

FRANCES. [_With one catch of wretched laughter._] Oh, my dear, if shooting's wanted . . shoot them. Or I'll do it for you.

_He sits in his chair just from weariness. She stands by him, her hand still grasping his._

TREBELL. You see, Fanny, as I said to Gilbert last night . . our lives are our own and yet not our own. We understand living for others and dying for others. The first is easy . . it's a way out of boredom. To make the second popular we had to invent a belief in personal resurrection. Do you think we shall ever understand dying in the sure and certain hope that it really doesn't matter . . that God is infinitely economical and wastes perhaps less of the power in us after our death than men do while we live?

FRANCES. I want your promise, Henry.

TREBELL. You know I never make promises . . it's taking oneself too seriously. Unless indeed one has the comic courage to break them too. I've upset you very much with my troubles. Don't you think you'd better go and finish dressing? [_She doesn't move._] My dear . . you don't propose to hold my right hand so safely for years to come. Even so, I still could jump out of a window.

FRANCES. I'll trust you, Henry.

_She looks into his eyes and he does not flinch. Then, with a final grip she leaves him. When she is at the door he speaks more gently than ever._

TREBELL. Your own life is sufficient unto itself, isn't it?

FRANCES. Oh yes. I can be pleasant to talk to and give good advice through the years that remain. [_Instinctively she rectifies some little untidiness in the room._] What fools they are to think they can run that government without you!

TREBELL. Horsham will do his best. [_Then, as for the second time she reaches the door._] Don't take away my razors, will you? I only use them for shaving.

FRANCES. [_Almost blushing._] I half meant to . . I'm sorry. After all, Henry, just because they are forgetting in personal feelings what's best for the country . . it's your duty not to. You'll stand by and do what you can, won't you?

TREBELL. [_His queer smile returning, in contrast to her seriousness._] Disestablishment. It's a very interesting problem. I must think it out.

FRANCES. [_Really puzzled._] What do you mean?

_He gets up with a quick movement of strange strength, and faces her. His smile changes into a graver gladness._

TREBELL. Something has happened . . in spite of me. My heart's clean again. I'm ready for fresh adventures.

FRANCES. [_With a nod and answering gladness._] That's right.

_So she leaves him, her mind at rest. For a minute he does not move. When his gaze narrows it falls on the heaps of letters. He carries them carefully into_ WALTER KENT'S _room and arranges them as carefully on his table. On his way out he stops for a moment; then with a sudden movement bangs the door._

_Two hours later the room has been put in order. It is even more full of light and the shadows are harder than usual. The doors are open, showing you_ KENT'S _door still closed. At the big writing table in_ TREBELL'S _chair sits_ WEDGECROFT, _pale and grave, intent on finishing a letter_. FRANCES _comes to find him. For a moment she leans on the table silently, her eyes half closed. You would say a broken woman. When she speaks it is swiftly, but tonelessly._

FRANCES. Lord Horsham is in the drawing room . . and I can't see him, I really can't. He has come to say he is sorry . . and I should tell him that it is his fault, partly. I know I should . . and I don't want to. Won't you go in? What are you writing?

WEDGECROFT, _with his physicianly pre-occupation, can attend, understand, sympathise, without looking up at her_.

WEDGECROFT. Never mind. A necessary note . . to the Coroner's office. Yes, I'll see Horsham.

FRANCES. I've managed to get the pistol out of his hand. Was that wrong . . oughtn't I to have touched it?

WEDGECROFT. Of course you oughtn't. You must stay away from the room. I'd better have locked the door.

FRANCES. [_Pitifully._] I'm sorry . . but I couldn't bear to see the pistol in his hand. I won't go back. After all he's not there in the room, is he? But how long do you think the spirit stays near the body . . how long? When people die gently of age or weakness . . . But when the spirit and body are so strong and knit together and all alive as his . . .

WEDGECROFT. [_His hand on hers._] Hush . . hush.

FRANCES. His face is very eager . . as if it still could speak. I know that.

MRS. FARRANT _comes through the open doorway_. FRANCES _hears her steps and turning falls into her outstretched arms to cry there_.

FRANCES. Oh, Julia!

MRS. FARRANT. Oh my dear Fanny! I came with Cyril Horsham . . I don't think Simpson even saw me.

FRANCES. I can't go in and talk to him.

MRS. FARRANT. He'll understand. But I heard you come in here . .

WEDGECROFT. I'll tell Horsham.

_He has finished and addressed his letter, so he goes out with it._ FRANCES _lifts her head. These two are in accord and can speak their feelings without disguise or preparation._

FRANCES. Julia, Julia . . isn't it unbelievable?

MRS. FARRANT. I'd give . . oh, what wouldn't I give to have it undone!

FRANCES. I knew he meant to . . and yet I thought I had his promise. If he really meant to . . I couldn't have stopped it, could I?

MRS. FARRANT. Walter sent to tell me and I sent round to . . .

FRANCES. Walter came soon after, I think. Julia, I was in my room . . it was nearly breakfast time . . when I heard the shot. Oh . . don't you think it was cruel of him?

MRS. FARRANT. He had a right to. We must remember that.

FRANCES. You say that easily of my brother . . you wouldn't say it of your husband.

_They are apart by this._ JULIA FARRANT _goes to her gently_.

MRS. FARRANT. Fanny . . will it leave you so very lonely?

FRANCES. Yes . . lonelier than you can ever be. You have children. I'm just beginning to realise. . .

MRS. FARRANT. [_Leading her from the mere selfishness of sorrow._] There's loneliness of the spirit, too.

FRANCES. Ah, but once you've tasted the common joys of life . . once you've proved all your rights as a man or woman . . .

MRS. FARRANT. Then there are subtler things to miss. As well be alone like you, or dead like him, without them . . I sometimes think.

FRANCES. [_Responsive, lifted from egoism, reading her friend's mind._] You demand much.

MRS. FARRANT. I wish that he had demanded much of any woman.

FRANCES. You know how this misery began? That poor little wretch . . she's lying dead too. They're both dead together now. Do you think they've met . . ?

JULIA _grips both her hands and speaks very steadily to help her friend back to self control_.

MRS. FARRANT. George told me as soon as he was told. I tried to make him understand my opinion, but he thought I was only shocked.

FRANCES. I was sorry for her. Now I can't forgive her either.

MRS. FARRANT. [_Angry, remorseful, rebellious._] When will men learn to know one woman from another?

FRANCES. [_With answering bitterness._] When will all women care to be one thing rather than the other?

_They are stopped by the sound of the opening of_ KENT'S _door_. WALTER _comes from his room, some papers from his table held listlessly in one hand. He is crying, undisguisedly, with a child's grief._

KENT. Oh . . am I in your way . . ?

FRANCES. I didn't know you were still here, Walter.

KENT. I've been going through the letters as usual. I don't know why, I'm sure. They won't have to be answered now . . will they?

WEDGECROFT _comes back, grave and tense_.

WEDGECROFT. Horsham has gone. He thought perhaps you'd be staying with Miss Trebell for a bit.

MRS. FARRANT. Yes, I shall be.

WEDGECROFT. I must go too . . it's nearly eleven.

FRANCES. To the =other= inquest?

_This stirs her two listeners to something of a shudder._

WEDGECROFT. Yes.

MRS. FARRANT. [_In a low voice._] It will make no difference now . . I mean . . still nothing need come out? We needn't know why he . . why he did it.

WEDGECROFT. When he talked to me last night, and I didn't know what he was talking of. . .

FRANCES. He was waiting this morning for Lord Horsham's note. . .

MRS. FARRANT. [_In real alarm._] Oh, it wasn't because of the Cabinet trouble . . you must persuade Cyril Horsham of that. You haven't told him . . he's so dreadfully upset as it is. I've been swearing it had nothing to do with that.

WEDGECROFT. [_Cutting her short, bitingly._] Has a time ever come to you when it was easier to die than to go on living? Oh . . I told Lord Horsham just what I thought.

_He leaves them, his own grief unexpressed._

FRANCES. [_Listlessly._] Does it matter why?

MRS. FARRANT. Need there be more suffering and reproaches? It's not as if even grief would do any good. [_Suddenly with nervous caution._] Walter, you don't know, do you?

WALTER _throws up his tear-marked face and a man's anger banishes the boyish grief_.

WALTER. No, I don't know why he did it . . and I don't care. And grief is no use. I'm angry . . just angry at the waste of a good man. Look at the work undone . . think of it! Who is to do it! Oh . . the waste . . !

_"The Marrying of Ann Leete" was produced by the Stage Society at the Royalty Theatre on the evening of January 26th, 1902._

Ann Leete _Miss Winifred Fraser_ Lord John Carp _Julian Royce_ George Leete _Kenneth Douglas_ Mr. Daniel Tatton _J. Malcolm Dunn_ Lady Cottesham _Miss Henrietta Watson_ Carnaby Leete _H. A. Saintsbury_ John Abud _C. M. Hallard_ The Rev. Dr. Remnant _Howard Sturge_ Mrs. Opie _Miss Helen Rous_ Dimmuck _George Trollope_ Mr. Tetgeen _A. E. George_ Lord Arthur Carp _Charles V. France_ Mr. Smallpeice _J. Y. F. Cooke_ Sir George Leete _Arthur Grenville_ Mr. Crowe _Sydney Paxton_ Lady Leete _Miss Bessie Page_ Mrs. George Leete _Miss Florence Neville_ The Rev. Mr. Tozer _Ivan Berlin_ Mr. Prestige _Howard Templeton_ Mrs. Prestige _Mrs. Gordon Gray_

_"The Voysey Inheritance" was first played at the Court Theatre, a Vedrenne-Barker performance, on the afternoon of November 7th 1905._

Mr. Voysey _A. E. George_ Mrs. Voysey _Miss Florence Haydon_ Trenchard Voysey, K. C. _Eugene Mayeur_ Honor Voysey _Miss Geraldine Olliffe_ Major Booth Voysey _Charles Fulton_ Mrs. Booth Voysey _Miss Grace Edwin_ Christopher _Harry C. Duff_ Edward Voysey _Thalberg Corbett_ Hugh Voysey _Dennis Eadie_ Mrs. Hugh Voysey _Miss Henrietta Watson_ Ethel Voysey _Miss Alexandra Carlisle_ Denis Tregoning _Frederick Lloyd_ Alice Maitland _Miss Mabel Hackney_ Mr. Booth _O. B. Clarence_ The Rev. Evan Colpus _Edmund Gwenn_ Peacey _Trevor Lowe_ Phoebe _Miss Gwynneth Galton_ Mary _Mrs. Fordyce_

_"Waste" was produced by the Stage Society at the Imperial Theatre, Westminster, on the evening of November 24th, 1907._

Lady Davenport _Miss Amy Coleman_ Walter Kent _Vernon Steel_ Mrs. Farrant _Miss Beryl Faber_ Miss Trebell _Miss Henrietta Watson_ Mrs. O'Connell _Miss Aimee De Burgh_ Lucy Davenport _Miss Dorothy Thomas_ George Farrant _Frederick Lloyd_ Russell Blackborough _A. Holmes-Gore_ A Footman _Allan Wade_ Henry Trebell _Granville Barker_ Simpson _Miss Mary Barton_ Gilbert Wedgecroft _Berte Thomas_ Lord Charles Cantelupe _Dennis Eadie_ The Earl of Horsham _Henry Vibart_ Edmunds _Trevor Lowe_ Justin O'Connell _J. Fisher White_

Transcriber's Notes:-

Ellipses and hyphenation have been kept as in the original.

P. 16 "Innocency's opininons are invariably entertaining."==>"Innocency's
opinions are invariably entertaining."

P. 79 "[_Disgustedly to_ MR. SMALLPIECE]"==>"[_Disgustedly to_ MR.
SMALLPEICE]"

P. 103 "In ten years years I may be"==>"In ten years I may be"

P. 145 "one can trace the pyschology"==>"one can trace the psychology"

G e s p e r r t spacing has been replaced with bold markup.

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