Chapter 5

PHOEBE. We may as well have it! It can play the Dead March in “Saul” if you win. (_She laughs_.)

SIGSBY. (_Grunts_. _To_ LAMB.) Are you coming?

(_He goes out_.)

LAMB. Yes. (_To_ ST. HERBERT.) Are you coming?

ST. HERBERT. Hardly worth while; nearly over, isn’t it?

LAMB. It generally takes an hour and a half. (_He looks at his watch_.) Another forty minutes. Perhaps less.

(_He goes out_.)

PHOEBE. I do love to make him ratty. Wish it wasn’t poor old Geoff we were fighting.

ST. HERBERT. When I marry, it will be the womanly woman.

PHOEBE. No chance for me then?

ST. HERBERT. I don’t say that. I can see you taking your political opinions from your husband, and thinking them your own.

PHOEBE. Good heavens!

ST. HERBERT. The brainy woman will think for herself. And then I foresee some lively breakfast tables.

PHOEBE. Humph! No fear, I suppose, of a man taking his views from his wife and thinking them his own?

ST. HERBERT. That may be the solution. The brainy woman will have to marry the manly man.

(GINGER _enters_.)

JAWBONES. (_He is on his knees blowing the fire_. _In a low growl_.) Shut the door!

GINGER. Can’t till I’m inside, can I? (_Shuts it_.) Where’s Lady Mogton?

JAWBONES. I don’t know.

PHOEBE. What do you want her for?

GINGER. Only to tell her that I can’t find Chilvers.

PHOEBE. Isn’t she here?

GINGER. Not unless she’s come while I’ve been out.

(JANET _enters_.)

JANET. Oh, Lady Mogton—

PHOEBE. (_Interrupting her_.) Isn’t Annys here?

JANET. No. (_To_ GINGER.) Haven’t you found her?

GINGER. (_Shakes her head_.) Been everywhere I could think of.

PHOEBE. (_To herself_.) She couldn’t have gone home? Is there a telephone here?

JANET. The room’s locked up.

JAWBONES. There’s one at 118, High Street. Shall I go, miss?

PHOEBE. No, thanks. I’ll go myself. Oh, what about the band?

JANET. Lady Mogton says she’d like it. If it isn’t too tired.

GINGER. It’s at Sell’s Coffee-’ouse in Piggott Street. I ’eard them practising.

PHOEBE. Good. I shan’t be more than a few minutes.

ST. HERBERT. I’ll come with you, if I may? I’ve got some news that may be of use to you.

PHOEBE. Do. (_To_ GINGER.) Stop here, I may want you.

(PHOEBE _and_ ST. HERBERT _go out_.)

JANET. How was Mrs. Chilvers seeming this afternoon?

GINGER. Never ’eard ’er speak better, miss.

JANET. Did you stop to the end?

GINGER. Not quite. Mrs. Spender wanted some shopping done.

(JANET _goes out_.)

GINGER. Can I ’elp yer?

JAWBONES. Yer might hold the piper while I blow.

(_The fire begins to burn_.)

GINGER. It’s getting brighter.

JAWBONES. That’s caught it.

GINGER. Wonderful what a little coaxing will do.

JAWBONES. (_He is still squatting on his heels_, _folding up the paper_. _He looks up_.) Ain’t yer ever thought of that, instead of worrying about the vote?

GINGER. (_She moves away_.) You don’t understand us wimmin.

JAWBONES. (_He has risen_. _He pauses in his folding of the paper_.) Don’t say that.

GINGER. Why should we coax yer—for our rights?

JAWBONES. Because it’s the easiest way of getting ’em.

GINGER. (_She has become oratorical_.) Our appeal is not to man (_with upraised hand_) but to Justice!

JAWBONES. Oh! And what does the lidy say?

GINGER. (_Descending_.) ’Ow do yer mean?

JAWBONES. To your appeal. Is she goin’ to give ’em to yer? You tike my tip: if yer in a ’urry, you get a bit on account—from Man. ’Ere. (_He dives into his pocket_, _produces_, _wrapped up in tissue paper_, _a ring_, _which he exhibits to her_.) That’s a bit more in your line.

GINGER. (_Her eyes sparkle_. _She takes the ring in her hand_. _Then problems come to her_.) Why do yer want me, William?

JAWBONES. Because, in spite of all, I love yer.

GINGER. (_She looks into the future_.) What will I be? A general servant, without wages.

JAWBONES. The question, as it seems to me, is, which of us two is the biggest fool? Instead of thirty bob a week in my pocket to spend as I like—guess I’ll ’ave to be content with three ’alf-crowns.

GINGER. Seven an’ six! Rather a lot, Bill, out o’ thirty bob. Don’t leave much for me an’ the children.

JAWBONES. I shall ’ave to get my dinners.

GINGER. I could mike yer somethin’ tasty to tike with yer. Then with, say—three shillings—

JAWBONES. ’Ere—(_He is on the point of snatching back the ring_. _He encounters her eyes_. _There is a moment’s battle_. _The Eternal Feminine conquers_.) Will yer always look as sweet as yer do now?

GINGER. Always, Bill. So long as yer good to me!

(_She slips the ring over her finger_, _still with her eyes drawing him_. _He catches her to him in fierce passion_, _kisses her_.)

(_A loud shrill female cheer comes from the crowd_. _The cheer is renewed and renewed_.)

JAWBONES. (_He breaks away and goes to the window_.) ’Ullo! What are they shoutin’ about now? (_He looks out_.) It’s the Donah!

GINGER. Mrs. Chilvers?

JAWBONES. Yus. Better not get wearin’ it—may shock their feelings.

GINGER. (_She gazes rapturously at the ring as she draws it off_.) It is a beauty! I do love yer, Bill.

(_There enter_ ANNYS _and_ ELIZABETH. ANNYS _is excited_; _she is laughing and talking_.)

ANNYS. (_Laughing while she rearranges her hat and hair_.) A little embarrassing. That red-haired girl—she carried me right up the steps. I was afraid she would—

(JAWBONES _has been quick enough to swing a chair into place just in time to receive her_.)

(_She recovers herself_.) Thank you.

ELIZABETH. (_She hands_ ANNYS _a smelling-bottle_. _To_ JAWBONES.) Open the window a few inches.

(_He does so_. _Some woman_, _much interrupted_, _is making a speech_.)

(JANET _opens the door a little way and looks in_.)

JANET. Oh, it is you! I am glad!

(_She goes out again_.)

ELIZABETH. Are the others all here?

GINGER. ’Er ladyship is watching the counting. Miss Phoebe ’as just gone out—

(PHOEBE _enters_.)

Oh, ’ere she is.

PHOEBE. Hullo! (_She is taking off her things_.) Wherever have you been? We’ve been scouring the neighbourhood—

(LADY MOGTON _enters_, _followed by_ JANET.)

I say, you’re looking jolly chippy.

ELIZABETH. We had an extra enthusiastic meeting. She spoke for rather a long time. I made her come home with me and lie down. I think she is all right now.

LADY MOGTON. Would you like to see a doctor?

PHOEBE. There is a very good man close here. (_She turns to_ JAWBONES, _who is still near the window_.) Gordon—

ANNYS. (_Interrupting_.) No. Please don’t. I am quite all right. I hate strange doctors.

PHOEBE. Well, let me send for Whitby; he could be here in twenty minutes.

ANNYS. I wish you would all leave me alone. There’s absolutely nothing to fuss about whatever. We pampered women—we can’t breathe the same air that ordinary mortals have to. We ought to be ashamed of ourselves.

PHOEBE. (_To herself_.) Obstinate pig.

(_She catches_ JAWBONES’ _eye_; _unnoticed by the others_, _she takes him aside_. _They whisper_.)

ANNYS. How is it going?

LADY MOGTON. You must be prepared for winning. (_She puts again the question that_ ANNYS _has frequently been asked to answer during the last few days_.) What are you going to do?

(MRS. MOUNTCALM-VILLIERS _enters_, _as usual in a flutter of excitement_.)

MRS. MOUNTCALM-VILLIERS. Am I late?

(_They brush her back into silence_. ELIZABETH _takes charge of her_.)

ANNYS. (_She has risen_.) You think it wise tactics, to make it impossible for Geoffrey to be anything else in the future but our enemy?

LADY MOGTON. (_Contemptuously_.) You are thinking of him, and not of the cause.

ANNYS. And if I were! Haven’t I made sacrifice enough?—more than any of you will ever know. Ay—and would make more, if I felt it was demanded of me. I don’t! (_Her burst of anger is finished_. _She turns_, _smiling_.) I’m much more cunning than you think. There will be other elections we shall want to fight. With the Under-Secretary for Home Affairs in sympathy with us, the Government will find it difficult to interfere. Don’t you see how clever I am?

(JAWBONES, _having received his instructions from_ PHOEBE, _has slipped out unobserved_. _He has beckoned to_ GINGER; _she has followed him_. PHOEBE _has joined the group_.)

MRS. MOUNTCALM-VILLIERS. There’s something in that.

JANET. Is Mr. Chilvers still in sympathy with us?

PHOEBE. Of course he is. A bit rubbed up the wrong way just at present; that’s our fault. When Annys goes down, early next mouth, to fight the Exchange Division of Manchester, we shall have him with us.

(_A moment_.)

LADY MOGTON. Where do you get that from?

PHOEBE. From St. Herbert. The present member is his cousin. They say he can’t live more than a week.

MRS. MOUNTCALM-VILLIERS. It really seems like Providence.

ANNYS. (_Has taken the opportunity of giving_ PHOEBE _a grateful squeeze of the hand_.)

LADY MOGTON. You will fight Manchester?

ANNYS. Yes. (_Laughs_.) And make myself a public nuisance if I win.

LADY MOGTON. Well, must be content with that, I suppose. Better not come in; the room’s rather crowded. I’ll keep you informed how things are going.

(_She goes out_, _followed by_ JANET.)

MRS. MOUNTCALM-VILLIERS. I’ll stay with you, dear.

PHOEBE. I want you to come and be photographed for the Daily Mirror. The man’s waiting downstairs.

ELIZABETH. I’ll stop with Annys.

MRS. MOUNTCALM-VILLIERS. I’m not quite sure, you know, that I take well by flashlight.

PHOEBE. You wait till you’ve seen mamma! We must have you. They want you for the centre of the page.

MRS. MOUNTCALM-VILLIERS. Well, if it’s really—

PHOEBE. (_To the others_.) Shall see you again. (_She winks_. _Then to_ MRS. MOUNTCALM-VILLIERS.) We mustn’t keep them waiting. They are giving us a whole page.

(PHOEBE _takes_ MRS. MOUNTCALM-VILLIERS _out_. ELIZABETH _has followed to the door_; _she closes it_. ANNYS _has reseated herself_, _facing the fire_.)

ELIZABETH. When did you see your husband last?

ANNYS. Not since—Tuesday, wasn’t it, that we went round to his rooms. Why?

ELIZABETH. I’m thinking about Manchester. What was it he said to you?

ANNYS. Oh, we were, both of us, a little over-excited, I suppose. He has—(_she hesitates_, _finally answers_)—he has always been so eager for children.

ELIZABETH. Yes. So many men are; not having to bear the pain and inconvenience themselves.

ANNYS. Oh, well, they have to provide for them when they do come. That’s fair enough division, I su— (_Suddenly she turns fiercely_.) Why do you talk like that? As if we women were cowards. Do you think if God sent me a child I should grudge Him the price!

ELIZABETH. Do you want Him to?

ANNYS. I don’t know; prayed Him to, once.

ELIZABETH. (_She lays her hand upon her_.) It isn’t a few more mothers that the world has need of. It is the women whom God has appointed—to whom He has given freedom, that they may champion the cause of the mothers, helpless by reason of their motherhood.

(_A moment_. GEOFFREY _enters_.)

GEOFFREY. Good evening.

ANNYS. (_Rises_; _a smile struggles for possession_. _But he only shakes hands_, _and it dies away_.)

ELIZABETH. Good evening.

(_They shake hands_.)

GEOFFREY. You are not interested in the counting?

ANNYS. The room is rather crowded. Mamma thought I would be better out here. How have you been?

GEOFFREY. Oh, all right. It’s going to be a very near thing, they tell me.

ANNYS. Yes, I shall be glad when it’s over.

GEOFFREY. It’s always a trying time. What are you going to do, if you win?

(LADY MOGTON _looks in_.)

LADY MOGTON. (_Seeing_ GEOFFREY.) Oh, good evening.

GEOFFREY. Good evening.

LADY MOGTON. Chilvers, 2,960—Annys Chilvers, 2,874.

(_She disappears—closes door_.)

ANNYS. Perhaps I’m not going to win. (_She goes to him_, _smiling_.) I hope you’ll win. I would so much rather you won.

GEOFFREY. Very kind of you. I’m afraid that won’t make it a certainty.

ANNYS. (_His answer has hardened her again_.) How can I? It would not be fair. Without your consent I should never have entered upon it. It was understood that the seat, in any case, would be yours.

GEOFFREY. I would rather you considered yourself quite free. In warfare it doesn’t pay to be “fair” to one’s enemy.

ANNYS. (_Still hardening_.) Besides, there is no need. There will be other opportunities. I can contest some other constituency. If I win, claim the seat for that.

(_A moment_.)

GEOFFREY. So this is only the beginning? You have decided to devote yourself to a political career?

ANNYS. Why not?

GEOFFREY. If I were to ask you to abandon it, to come back to your place at my side—helping me, strengthening me?

ANNYS. You mean you would have me abandon my own task—merge myself in you?

GEOFFREY. Be my wife.

ANNYS. It would not be right. I, too, have my work.

GEOFFREY. If it takes you away from me?

ANNYS. Why need it take me away from you? Why cannot we work together for common ends, each in our own way?

GEOFFREY. We talked like that before we tried it. Marriage is not a partnership; it is a leadership.

ANNYS. (_She looks at him_.) You mean—an ownership.

GEOFFREY. Perhaps you’re right. I didn’t make it. I’m only—beginning to understand it.

ANNYS. And I too. It is not what I want.

GEOFFREY. You mean its duties have become irksome to you.

ANNYS. I mean I want to be the judge myself of what are my duties.

GEOFFREY. I no longer count. You will go your way without me?

ANNYS. I must go the way I think right.

GEOFFREY. (_He flings away_.) If you win to-night you will do well to make the most of it. Take my advice and claim the seat.

ANNYS. (_Looks at him puzzled_.)

ELIZABETH. Why?

GEOFFREY. Because (_with a short_, _ugly laugh_) the Lord only knows when you’ll get another opportunity.

ELIZABETH. You are going to stop us?

GEOFFREY. To stop women from going to the poll. The Bill will be introduced on Monday. Carried through all its stages the same week.

ELIZABETH. You think it will pass?

GEOFFREY. The Whips assure me that it will.

ANNYS. But they cannot, they dare not, without your assent. The— (_The light breaks in upon her_.) Who is bringing it in?

GEOFFREY. I am.

ANNYS. (_Is going to speak_.)

GEOFFREY. (_He stops her_.) Oh, I’m prepared for all that—ridicule, abuse. “Chilvers’s Bill for the Better Regulation of Mrs. Chilvers,” they’ll call it. I can hear their laughter. Yours won’t be among it.

ANNYS. But, Geoffrey! What is the meaning? Merely to spite me, are you going to betray a cause that you have professed belief in—that you have fought for?

GEOFFREY. Yes—if it is going to take you away from me. I want you. No, I don’t want a friend—“a fellow-worker”—some interesting rival in well doing. I can get all that outside my home. I want a wife. I want the woman I love to belong to me—to be mine. I am not troubling about being up to date; I’m talking what I feel—what every male creature must have felt since the protoplasmic cell developed instincts. I want a woman to love—a woman to work for—a woman to fight for—a woman to be a slave to. But mine—mine, and nothing else. All the rest (_he makes a gesture_) is talk.

(_He closes the window_, _shutting out the hubbub of the crowd_.)

ANNYS. (_A strange_, _new light has stolen in_. _She is bewildered_, _groping_.) But—all this is new between us. You have not talked like this for—not since— We were just good friends—comrades.

GEOFFREY. And might have remained so, God knows! I suppose we’re made like that. So long as there was no danger passion slept. I cannot explain it. I only know that now, beside the thought of losing you, all else in the world seems meaningless. The Woman’s Movement! (_He makes a gesture of contempt_.) Men have wrecked kingdoms for a woman before now—and will again. I want you! (_He comes to her_.) Won’t you come back to me, that we may build up the home we used to dream of? Wasn’t the old love good? What has this new love to give you? Work that man can do better. The cause of the women—the children! Has woman loved woman better than man? Will the world be better for the children, man and woman contending? Come back to me. Help me. Help me to fight for all good women. Teach me how I may make the world better—for our children.

ANNYS. (_The light is in her eyes_. _She stands a moment_. _Her hands are going out to him_.)

ELIZABETH. (_She comes between them_.) Yes, go to him. He will be very good to you. Good men are kind to women, kind even to their dogs. You will be among the pampered few! You will be happy. And the others! What does it matter?

(_They draw apart_. _She stands between them_, _the incarnation of the spirit of sex war_.)

The women that have not kind owners—the dogs that have not kind masters—the dumb women, chained to their endless, unpaid drudgery! Let them be content. What are they but man’s chattel? To be honoured if it pleases him, or to be cast into the dust. Man’s pauper! Bound by his laws, subject to his whim; her every hope, her every aspiration, owed to his charity. She toils for him without ceasing: it should be her “pleasure.” She bears him children, when he chooses to desire them. They are his to do as he will by. Why seek to change it? Our man is kind. What have they to do with us: the women beaten, driven, overtasked—the women without hope or joy, the livers of grey lives that men may laugh and spend—the women degraded lower than the beasts to pander to the beast in man—the women outraged and abandoned, bearing to the grave the burden of man’s lust? Let them go their way. They are but our sisters of sorrow. And we who could help them—we to whom God has given the weapons: the brain, and the courage—we make answer: “I have married a husband, and I cannot come.”

(_A silence_.)

GEOFFREY. Well, you have heard. (_He makes a gesture_.) What is your answer?

ANNYS. (_She comes to him_.) Don’t you love me enough to humour me a little—to put up with my vexing ways? I so want to help, to feel I am doing just a little, to make the world kinder. I know you can do it better, but I want so to be “in it.” (_She laughs_.) Let us forget all this. Wake up to-morrow morning with fresh hearts. You will be Member for East Poplar. And then you shall help me to win Manchester. (_She puts her hands upon his breast_: _she would have him take her in his arms_.) I am not strong enough to fight alone.

GEOFFREY. I want you. Let Manchester find some one else.

ANNYS. (_She draws away from him_.) And if I cannot—will not?

GEOFFREY. I bring in my Bill on Monday. We’ll be quite frank about it. That is my price—you. I want you!

ANNYS. You mean it comes to that: a whole cause dependent on a man and a woman!

GEOFFREY. Yes, that is how the world is built. On each man and woman. “How does it shape my life, my hopes?” So will each make answer.

(LADY MOGTON _enters_. _She stands silent_.)

ELIZABETH. Is it over?

LADY MOGTON. Annys Chilvers, 3,604—Geoffrey Chilvers, 3,590.

(JANET _enters_.)

JANET. (_She rushes to_ ANNYS, _embraces her_.) You’ve won, you’ve won! (_She flies to the window_, _opens it_, _and goes out on to the balcony_.)

(PHOEBE _enters_, _followed by_ MRS. MOUNTCALM-VILLIERS.)

PHOEBE. Is it true?

LADY MOGTON. Pretty close. Majority of 14.

MRS. MOUNTCALM-VILLIERS. For us?

LADY MOGTON. For us.

(JANET _by this time has announced the figures_. _There is heard a great burst of cheering_, _renewed again and again_.)

JANET. (_Re-entering_.) They want you! They want you!

(_Mingled with the cheering come cries of_ “_Speech_! _Speech_!”)

LADY MOGTON. You must say something.

(_The band strikes up_ “_The Conquering Hero_.” _The women crowd round_ ANNYS, _congratulating her_. GEOFFREY _stands apart_.)

PHOEBE. (_Screaming above the din_.) Put on your cloak.

JANET. (_Rushes and gets it_.)

(_They wrap it round her_.)

(ANNYS _goes out on to the balcony_, _followed by the other women_. ELIZABETH, _going last_, _fires a parting smile of triumph at_ GEOFFREY.)

(_A renewed burst of cheering announces their arrival on the balcony_. _The crowd bursts into_ “_For She’s a Jolly Good Fellow_”—_the band_, _making a quick change_, _joins in_. GEOFFREY _remains centre_.)

(JAWBONES _enters unobserved_. _The singing ends with three cheers_. ANNYS _is speaking_. GEOFFREY _turns and sees_ JAWBONES.)

GEOFFREY. (_With a smile_.) Give me down my coat, will you?

JAWBONES. (_He is sympathetic_. _He helps him on with it_.) Shall I get you a cab, sir?

GEOFFREY. No, thanks. I’ll pick one up. (_He goes towards the door_, _then stops_.) Is there any other way out—not through the main entrance?

JAWBONES. Yes, sir. There’s a side door opening on Woodstock Road. I’ll show it you.

GEOFFREY. Thanks. (_He follows_ JAWBONES _out_.)

(_A burst of cheering comes from the crowd_.)

CURTAIN.

THE FOURTH ACT

SCENE:—_Russell Square_. _The morning-room_ (_on the ground floor_). _A small_, _cheerful room_, _furnished in Chippendale_, _white panelled_, _with Adams fireplace in which a bright fire is burning_. _Two deep easy-chairs are before the fire_. _The window-curtains of red damask are drawn_. _An oval table occupies the centre of the room_. _The door at back opens upon the hall_. _Only one light burns_, _an electric lamp on a table just above the fire_.

TIME:—_Midnight_.

(_The door opens_. GEOFFREY _enters_. _He has left his out-door things in the hall_. _He crosses and rings the bell_. _A moment_.)

(HAKE _enters_.)

GEOFFREY. Oh, you, Hake! There wasn’t any need for you to have stopped.

HAKE. I was not sure of your arrangements. I thought perhaps I might be wanted.

GEOFFREY. Sorry. I ought to have told you.

HAKE. It’s been no inconvenience, sir. I told Mrs. Hake not to sit up.

GEOFFREY. (_He is opening and reading his letters left for him on the table_.) Does she generally sit up for you?

HAKE. As a rule, sir. We like a little chat before going to bed.

GEOFFREY. (_His eyes on a letter_.) What do you find to chat about?

HAKE. Oh, there is so much for a husband and wife to talk about. The— As a rule.

(_A clock on the mantelpiece strikes one_.)

GEOFFREY. What’s that?

HAKE. Quarter past twelve, sir.

GEOFFREY. Has your mistress come in?

HAKE. Not yet, sir. Has the election gone all right, sir?

GEOFFREY. For Mrs. Chilvers, yes. She is now member for East Poplar.

HAKE. I am sorry. It has been a great surprise to me.

GEOFFREY. The result?

HAKE. The whole thing, sir. Such a sweet lady, we all thought her.

GEOFFREY. Life, Hake, is a surprising affair.

(_A ring is heard_.)

I expect that’s she. She has forgotten her key.

(HAKE _goes out_.)

(GEOFFREY _continues his letters_. _A few moments pass_; HAKE _re-enters_, _closes the door_.)

HAKE. (_He seems puzzled_.) It’s a lady, sir

(GEOFFREY _turns_.)

HAKE. At least—hardly a lady. A Mrs. Chinn.

GEOFFREY. Mrs. Chinn! (_He glances at his watch_.) At twelve o’clock at night. Well, all right. I’ll see her.

(HAKE _opens the door_, _speaks to_ MRS. CHINN. _She enters_, _in bonnet and shawl_.)

HAKE. Mrs. Chinn.

GEOFFREY. Good evening, Mrs. Chinn.

MRS. CHINN. Good evening, sir.

GEOFFREY. You needn’t stop, Hake. I shan’t be wanting anything.

HAKE. Thank you.

GEOFFREY. Apologise for me to Mrs. Hake. Good-night.

HAKE. Good-night, sir.

(HAKE _goes out_. _A minute later the front door is heard to slam_.)

GEOFFREY. Won’t you sit down? (_He puts a chair for her left of the table_.)

MRS. CHINN. (_Seating herself_.) Thank you, sir.

GEOFFREY. (_He half sits on the arm of the easy-chair below the fire_.) What’s the trouble?

MRS. CHINN. It’s my boy, sir—my youngest. He’s been taking money that didn’t belong to him.