Chapter 4

VERNON. I’ll be careful. [_Ernest has left the door open_. _The harmonium breaks forth again_, _together with vocal accompaniment as before_.] What’s on downstairs, then—a party?

FANNY. Bennet is holding a prayer meeting.

VERNON. A prayer meeting?

FANNY. One of the younger members of the family has been detected “telling a deliberate lie.” [_Vernon is near the door listening_, _with his back towards her_, _or he would see that she is smiling_.] Black sheep, I suppose, to be found in every flock. [_Music ceases_, _Ernest having arrived with the news of his lordship’s return_.]

VERNON [_returning to the table_, _having closed the door_]. Good old man, you know, Bennet. All of them! So high-principled! Don’t often get servants like that, nowadays.

FANNY. Seems almost selfish, keeping the whole collection to ourselves.

VERNON [_laughs_]. ’Pon my word it does. But what can we do? They’ll never leave us—not one of them.

FANNY. No, I don’t believe they ever will.

VERNON. Do you know, I sometimes think that you don’t like them. [_Fanny makes a movement_.] Of course, they are a bit bossy, I admit. But all that comes from their devotion, their—

FANNY. The wonder to me is that, brought up among them, admiring them as you do, you never thought of marrying one of them.

VERNON [_staggered_.] Marrying them?

FANNY. I didn’t say “them.” I said “_one_ of them.” There’s Honoria. She’s pretty enough, anyhow. So’s Alice, Charles Bennet’s daughter, and Bertha and Grace—all of them beautiful. And what’s even better still—good. [_She says it viciously_.] Didn’t you ever think of them?

VERNON. Well [_laughs_]—well, one hardly marries into one’s own kitchen.

FANNY. Isn’t that rather snobbish? You say they’re more like friends than servants. They’ve lived with your people, side by side, for three generations, doing their duty, honourably. There’s never been a slur upon their name. They’re “high-principled.” You know it. They’ve better manners than nine-tenths of your smart society, and they’re healthy. What’s wrong with them—even from a lord’s point of view?

VERNON [_recovering himself_]. Well, don’t pitch into me about it. It’s your fault if I didn’t marry them—I mean one of them. [_He laughs_, _puts his empty cup back on the table_.] Maybe I’d have thought about it—if I hadn’t met you.

FANNY [_takes his hand in hers_]. I wish you hadn’t asked Newte any questions about me. It would have been so nice to feel that you had married me—just because you couldn’t help it—just because I was I and nothing else mattered.

VERNON. Let’s forget I ever did. [_He kneels beside her_.] I didn’t do it for my own sake, as you know. A _man_ in my position has to think of other people. His wife has to take her place in society. People insist upon knowing something about her. It’s not enough for the stupid “County” that she’s the cleverest, most bewilderingly beautiful, bewitching lady in the land.

FANNY. And how long will you think all that?

VERNON. For ever, and ever, and ever.

FANNY. Oh, you dear boy. [_She kisses him_.] You don’t know how a woman loves the man she loves to love her. [_Laughs_.] Isn’t that complicated?

VERNON. Not at all. We’re just the same. We love to love the woman we love.

FANNY. Provided the “County” will let us. And the County has said: A man may not marry his butler’s niece.

VERNON [_laughing_]. You’ve got butlers on the brain. If ever I do run away with my own cook or under-housemaid, it will be your doing.

FANNY. You haven’t the pluck! The “County” would laugh at you. You men are so frightened of being laughed at.

VERNON [_he rises_]. Well, if it saves us from making asses of ourselves—

FANNY. Wasn’t there a niece of old Bennet’s, a girl who had been brought up abroad, and who _wasn’t_ a domestic servant—never had been—who stayed with them here, at the gardener’s cottage, for a short time, some few years ago?

VERNON. You mean poor Rose Bennet’s daughter—the one who ran away and married an organ-grinder.

FANNY. An organ-grinder?

VERNON. Something of that sort—yes. They had her over; did all they could. A crazy sort of girl; used to sing French ballads on the village green to all the farm labourers she could collect. Shortened poor Bennet’s life by about ten years. [_Laughs_.] But why? Not going to bully me for not having fallen in love with her, are you? Because that really _wasn’t_ my fault. I never even saw her. ’Twas the winter we spent in Rome. She bolted before we got back. Never gave me a chance.

FANNY. I accept the excuse. [_Laughs_.] No, I was merely wondering what the “County” would have done if by any chance you had married _her_. Couldn’t have said you were marrying into your own kitchen in her case, because she was never _in_ your kitchen—absolutely refused to enter it, I’m told.

VERNON [_laughs_]. It would have been a “nice point,” as they say in legal circles. If people had liked her, they’d have tried to forget that her cousins had ever been scullery-maids. If not, they’d have taken good care that nobody did.

_Bennet enters_. _He brings some cut flowers_, _with the_ “_placing_” _of which he occupies himself_.

BENNET. I did not know your lordship had returned.

VERNON. Found a telegram waiting for me in the village. What’s become of that niece of yours, Bennet—your sister Rose’s daughter, who was here for a short time and ran away again? Ever hear anything about her?

BENNET [_very quietly he turns_, _lets his eyes for a moment meet Fanny’s_. _Then answers as he crosses to the windows_]. The last I heard about her was that she was married.

VERNON. Satisfactorily?

BENNET. Looking at it from her point of view—most satisfactorily.

VERNON [_laughs_]. But looking at it from his—more doubtful?

BENNET. She was not without her attractions. Her chief faults, I am inclined to think, were those arising from want of discipline in youth. I have hopes that it is not even yet too late to root out from her nature the weeds of indiscretion.

VERNON. And you think he is the man to do it?

BENNET. Perhaps not. But fortunately there are those about her fully alive to the duty devolving upon them.

VERNON. Um. Sounds a little bit like penal servitude for the poor girl, the way you put it, Bennet.

BENNET. Even penal servitude may be a blessing, if it serves to correct a stubborn spirit.

VERNON. We’ll have to make you a J.P., Bennet. Must be jolly careful I don’t ever get tried before you. [_Laughs_.] Is that the cart?

BENNET [_he looks out through the window_]. Yes, your lordship.

VERNON [_he takes up his cap_]. I may be bringing someone back with me. [_To Fanny_, _who throughout has remained seated_.] Why not put on your hat—come with me?

FANNY [_she jumps up_, _delighted_]. Shall I?

BENNET. Your ladyship is not forgetting that to-day is Wednesday?

FANNY. What’s the odds. There’s nobody to call. Everybody is still in town.

BENNET. It has always been the custom of the Lady Bantocks, when in residence, to be at home on Wednesdays.

VERNON. Perhaps better not. It may cause talk; if, by chance, anybody does come. I was forgetting it was Wednesday. [_Fanny sits again_.] I shan’t do anything without consulting you. Good-bye.

FANNY. Good-bye.

_Vernon goes out_.

BENNET. You think it wise, discussing with his lordship the secret history of the Bennet family?

FANNY. What do you mean by telling him my father was an organ-grinder? If the British public knew the difference between music and a hurdy-gurdy, he would have kept a butler of his own.

BENNET. I am not aware of having mentioned to his lordship that you ever to my knowledge even had a father. It is not my plan—for the present at all events—to inform his lordship anything about your family. Take care I am not forced to.

FANNY. Because my father, a composer who had his work performed at the Lamoureux Concerts—as I can prove, because I’ve got the programme—had the misfortune to marry into a family of lackeys—I’m not talking about my mother: she was never really one of you. _She_ had the soul of an artist.

BENNET [_white with suppressed fury_; _he is in front of her_; _his very look is enough to silence her_]. Now you listen to me, my girl, once and for all. I told you the night of your arrival that whether this business was going to prove a pleasant or an unpleasant one depended upon you. You make it an easy one—for your own sake. With one word I can bring your house of cards about your ears. I’ve only to tell him the truth for him to know you as a cheat and liar. [_She goes to speak_; _again he silences her_.] You listen to me. You’ve seen fit to use strong language; now I’m using strong language. This _boy_, who has married you in a moment of impulse, what does _he_ know about the sort of wife a man in his position needs? What do _you_? made to sing for your living on the Paris boulevards—whose only acquaintance with the upper classes has been at shady restaurants.

FANNY. He didn’t _want_ a woman of his own class. He told me so. It was because I wasn’t a colourless, conventional puppet with a book of etiquette in place of a soul that he was first drawn towards me.

BENNET. Yes. At twenty-two, boys like unconventionality. Men don’t: they’ve learnt its true name, vulgarity. Do you think I’ve stood behind English society for forty years without learning anything about it! What you call a colourless puppet is what _we_ call an English lady. And that you’ve got to learn to be. You talk of “lackeys.” If your mother, my poor sister Rose, came from a family of “lackeys” there would be no hope for you. With her blood in your veins the thing can be done. We Bennets—[_he draws himself up_]—we serve. We are not lackeys.

FANNY. All right. Don’t you call my father an organ-grinder, and I won’t call you lackeys. Unfortunately that doesn’t end the trouble.

BENNET. The trouble can easily be ended.

FANNY. Yes. By my submitting to be ruled in all things for the remainder of my life by my own servants.

BENNET. Say “relations,” and it need not sound so unpleasant.

FANNY. Yes, it would. It would sound worse. One can get rid of one’s servants. [_She has crossed towards the desk_. _Her cheque-book lies there half hidden under other papers_. _It catches her eye_. _Her hand steals unconsciously towards it_. _She taps it idly with her fingers_. _It is all the work of a moment_. _Nothing comes of it_. _Just the idea passes through her brain—not for the first time_. _She does nothing noticeable—merely stands listless while one might count half a dozen—then turns to him again_.] Don’t you think you’re going it a bit too strong, all of you? I’m not a fool. I’ve got a lot to learn, I know. I’d be grateful for help. What you’re trying to do is to turn me into a new woman entirely.

BENNET. Because that is the only _way_ to help you. Men do not put new wine into old bottles.

FANNY. Oh, don’t begin quoting Scripture. I want to discuss the thing sensibly. Don’t you see it can’t be done? I can’t be anybody else than myself. I don’t want to.

BENNET. My girl, you’ve _got_ to be. Root and branch, inside and outside, before you’re fit to be Lady Bantock, mother of the Lord Bantocks that are to be, you’ve got to be a changed woman.

_A pause_.

FANNY. And it’s going to be your job, from beginning to end—yours and the rest of you. What I wear and how I look is Jane’s affair. My prayers will be for what Aunt Susannah thinks I stand in need of. What I eat and drink and say and do _you_ will arrange for me. And when you die, Cousin Simeon, I suppose, will take your place. And when Aunt Susannah dies, it will merely be a change to Aunt Amelia. And if Jane ever dies, Honoria will have the dressing and the lecturing of me. And so on and so on, world without end, for ever and ever, Amen.

BENNET. Before that time, you will, I shall hope, have learnt sufficient sense to be grateful to us. [_He goes out_.]

FANNY [_she turns—walks slowly back towards the tea-table_. _Halfway she pauses_, _and leaning over the back of a chair regards in silence for a while the portrait of the first Lady Bantock_]. I do wish I could tell what you were saying.

_The door opens_. _The Misses Wetherell come in_. _They wear the same frocks that they wore in the first act_. _They pause_. _Fanny is still gazing at the portrait_.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Don’t you notice it, dear?

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Yes. There really is.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. It struck me the first day. [_To Fanny_, _who has turned_] Your likeness, dear, to Lady Constance. It’s really quite remarkable.

FANNY. You think so?

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. It’s your expression—when you are serious.

FANNY [_laughs_]. I must try to be more serious.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. It will come, dear.

_They take their places side by side on the settee_.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL [_to her sister_, _with a pat of the hand_]. In good time. It’s so nice to have her young. I wonder if anybody’ll come this afternoon.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL [_to Fanny_]. You see, dear, most of the county people are still in town.

FANNY [_who is pouring out tea_]. I’m not grumbling.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Oh, you’ll like them, dear. The Cracklethorpes especially. [_To her sister for confirmation_] Bella Cracklethorpe is so clever.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. And the Engells. She’ll like the Engells. All the Engell girls are so pretty. [_Fanny brings over two cups of tea_.] Thank you, dear.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL [_as she takes her cup—patting Fanny’s hand_]. And they’ll like you, dear, _all_ of them.

FANNY [_returning to table_]. I hope so.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. It’s wonderful, dear—you won’t mind my saying it?—how you’ve improved.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Of course it was such a change for you. And at first [_turns to her sister_] we were a little anxious about her, weren’t we?

_Fanny has returned to them with the cake-basket_.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL [_as she takes a piece_]. Bennet [_she lingers on the name as that of an authority_] was saying only yesterday that he had great hopes of you.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL [_Fanny is handing the basket to her_]. Thank you, dear.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. I told Vernon. He was _so_ pleased.

FANNY. _Vernon_ was?

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. He attaches so much importance to Bennet’s opinion.

FANNY. Um. I’m glad I appear to be giving satisfaction. [_She has returned to her seat at the table_.] I suppose when you go to town, you take the Bennets with you?

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL [_surprised at the question_]. Of course, dear.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Vernon didn’t wish to go this year. He thought you would prefer—

FANNY. I was merely thinking of when he did. Do you ever go abroad for the winter? So many people do, nowadays.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. We tried it once. But there was nothing for dear Vernon to do. You see, he’s so fond of hunting.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL [_to her sister_]. And then there will be his Parliamentary duties that he will have to take up now.

_Fanny rises_, _abruptly_.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. You’re not ill, dear?

FANNY. No. Merely felt I wanted some air. You don’t mind, do you? [_She flings a casement open_.]

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Not at all, dear. [_To her sister_] It _is_ a bit close.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. One could really do without fires.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. If it wasn’t for the evenings.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. And then, of course, the cold weather might come again. One can never feel safe until—

_The door opens_. _Dr. Freemantle enters_, _announced by Bennet_. _The old ladies go to rise_. _He stops them_.

DR. FREEMANTLE. Don’t get up. [_He shakes hands with them_.] How are we this afternoon? [_He shakes his head and clicks his tongue_.] Really, I think I shall have to bring an action for damages against Lady Bantock. Ever since she—

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Hush! [_She points to the window_.] Fanny.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Here’s Doctor Freemantle.

_Fanny comes from the window_.

DR. FREEMANTLE [_he meets her and takes her hand_]. Was just saying, I really think I shall have to claim damages against you, Lady Bantock. You’ve practically deprived me of two of my best paying patients. Used to be sending for me every other day before you came. Now look at them! [_The two ladies laugh_.] She’s not as bad as we expected. [_He pats her hand_.] Do you remember my description of what I thought she was going to be like?

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. She’s a dear girl.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Bennet—

FANNY [_she has crossed to table—is pouring out the Doctor’s tea_]. Oh, mightn’t we have a holiday from Bennet?

DR. FREEMANTLE [_laughs_]. Seems to be having a holiday himself to-day.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. A holiday?

DR. FREEMANTLE. Didn’t you know? Oh, there’s an awfully swagger party on downstairs. They were all trooping in as I came.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. I’d no idea he was giving a party. [_To Fanny_] Did you, dear?

FANNY [_she hands the Doctor his tea_]. Yes. It’s a prayer meeting. The whole family, I expect, has been summoned.

DR. FREEMANTLE. A prayer meeting! Didn’t look like it.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. But why should he be holding a prayer meeting?

FANNY. Oh, one of the family—

DR. FREEMANTLE. And why twelve girls in a van?

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. In a van?

DR. FREEMANTLE. One of Hutton’s from the Station Hotel—with a big poster pinned on the door: “Our Empire.”

_Fanny has risen_. _She crosses and rings the bell_.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. What’s the matter, dear?

FANNY. I’m not quite sure yet. [_Her whole manner is changed_. _A look has come into her eyes that has not been there before_. _She speaks in quiet_, _determined tones_. _She rings again_. _Then returning to table_, _hands the cake-basket to the Doctor_.] Won’t you take one, Doctor? They’re not as indigestible as they look. [_Laughs_.]

DR. FREEMANTLE [_he also is bewildered at the changed atmosphere_]. Thank you. I hope I—

FANNY [_she turns to Ernest_, _who has entered_. _Her tone_, _for the first time_, _is that of a mistress speaking to her servants_]. Have any visitors called for me this afternoon?

ERNEST. Vi-visitors—?

FANNY. Some ladies.

ERNEST [_he is in a slough of doubt and terror_]. L—ladies?

FANNY. Yes. Please try to understand the English language. Has a party of ladies called here this afternoon?

ERNEST. There have been some ladies. They—we—

FANNY. Where are they?

ERNEST. They—I—

FANNY. Send Bennet up to me. Instantly, please.

_Ernest_, _only too glad to be off_, _stumbles out_.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. My dear—

FANNY. You’ll take some more tea, won’t you? Do you mind, Doctor, passing Miss Wetherell’s cup? And the other one. Thank you. And will you pass them the biscuits? You see, I am doing all I can on your behalf. [_She is talking and laughing—a little hysterically—for the purpose of filling time_.] Tea and hot cake—could anything be worse for them?

DR. FREEMANTLE. Well, tea, you know—

FANNY. I know. [_Laughs_.] You doctors are all alike. You all denounce it, but you all drink it. [_She hands him the two cups_.] That one is for Aunt Wetherell of the beautiful hair; and the other is for Aunt Wetherell of the beautiful eyes. [_Laughs_.] It’s the only way I can distinguish them.

_Bennet enters_.

Oh, Bennet!

BENNET. You sent for me?

FANNY. Yes. I understand some ladies have called.

BENNET. I think your ladyship must have been misinformed. I most certainly have seen none.

FANNY. I have to assume, Bennet, that either Dr. Freemantle or you are telling lies.

_A silence_.

BENNET. A party of over-dressed young women, claiming to be acquainted with your ladyship, have arrived in a van. I am giving them tea in the servants’ hall, and will see to it that they are sent back to the station in ample time to catch their train back to town.

FANNY. Please show them up. They will have their tea here.

BENNET [_her very quietness is beginning to alarm him_. _It shakes him from his customary perfection of manners_]. The Lady Bantocks do not as a rule receive circus girls in their boudoir.

FANNY [_still with her alarming quietness_]. Neither do they argue with their servants. Please show these ladies in.

BENNET. I warn you—

FANNY. You heard my orders. [_Her tone has the right ring_. _The force of habit is too strong upon him_. _He yields—savagely—and goes out_. _She turns to the Doctor_.] So sorry I had to drag you into it. I didn’t see how else I was going to floor him.

DR. FREEMANTLE. Splendid! [_He grips her hand_.]

FANNY [_she goes to the old ladies who sit bewildered terrified_.] They won’t be here for more than a few minutes—they can’t be. I want you to be nice to them—both of you. They are friends of mine. [_She turns to the Doctor_.] They’re the girls I used to act with. We went all over Europe—twelve of us—representing the British Empire. They are playing in London now.

DR. FREEMANTLE. To-night? [_He looks at his watch_.]

FANNY [_she is busy at the tea-table_]. Yes. They are on the stage at half past nine. You might look out their train for them. [_She points to the Bradshaw on the desk_.] I don’t suppose they’ve ever thought about how they’re going to get back. It’s Judy’s inspiration, this, the whole thing; I’d bet upon it. [_With a laugh_.] She always was as mad as a March hare.

DR. FREEMANTLE [_busy with the Bradshaw_]. They were nice-looking girls.

FANNY. Yes. I think we did the old man credit. [_With a laugh_.] John Bull’s daughters, they called us in Paris.

_Bennet appears in doorway_.

BENNET [_announces_]. “Our Empire.”

_Headed by_ “_England_,” _the twelve girls_, _laughing_, _crowding_, _jostling one another_, _talking all together_, _swoop in_.

ENGLAND [_a lady with a decided Cockney accent_]. Oh, my dear, talk about an afternoon! We ’ave ’ad a treat getting ’ere.

_Fanny kisses her_.

SCOTLAND [_they also kiss_]. Your boss told us you’d gone out.

FANNY. It was a slight—misunderstanding. Bennet, take away these things, please. And let me have half a dozen bottles of champagne.

STRAITS SETTLEMENTS [_a small girl at the back of the crowd—with a shrill voice_]. Hooray!

BENNET [_he is controlling himself with the supremest difficulty_. _Within he is a furnace_]. I’m afraid I have mislaid the key of the cellar.

FANNY [_she looks at him_]. You will please find it—quickly. [_Bennet_, _again from habit_, _yields_. _But his control almost fails him_. _He takes up the tray of unneeded tea-things from the table_.] I shall want some more of all these [_cakes_, _fruit_, _sandwiches_, _etc._]. And some people to wait. Tell Jane she must come and help.

_Bennet goes out_. _During this passage of arms between mistress and man a momentary lull has taken place in the hubbub_. _As he goes out_, _it begins to grow again_.

ENGLAND. ’E does tease yer, don’t ’e? Wanted us to ’ave tea in the kitchen.

FANNY. Yes. These old family servants—

AFRICA [_she prides herself on being_ “_quite the lady_”]. Don’t talk about ’em, dear. We had just such another. [_She turns to a girl near her_.] Oh, they’ll run the whole show for you if you let ’em.

ENGLAND. It was Judy’s idea, our giving you this little treat. Don’t you blime me for it.

WALES [_a small_, _sprightly girl with a childish_, _laughing voice_]. Well, we were all together with nothing better to do. They’d called a rehearsal and then found they didn’t want us—silly fools. I told ’em you’d just be tickled to death.