Part 3

CATHERINE.

Do you think I find it any easier? Sometimes when I’ve been dreadfully lonely, dreadfully wretched, I’ve longed to be able to rest my head on your shoulder, and I’ve thought I might have loved my tears if you could have kissed them away.

COLBY.

Were you angry with me when I wrote to you? The one foolish letter?

CATHERINE.

How could I be?

COLBY.

I was dreadfully unhappy then. Everything I tried seemed to go wrong. I was utterly dispirited, and I couldn’t help writing.

CATHERINE.

I read the letter till I knew every word by heart. Sometimes I wonder how I could have borne my life at all except for the knowledge that you cared for me.

COLBY.

You’ve never once told me that you love me, Kate.

CATHERINE.

D’you want me to say it in so many words? Why else d’you think I’m exposing myself to all the humiliation, all the horrors that are before me? Yes, I love you with all my heart and soul.

COLBY.

And after it’s all over?

CATHERINE.

It shall be as you wish.

COLBY.

You’ve meant so much to me, Kate. All the success I’ve had I feel that I owe to you. Sometimes I’ve hated the intrigues and the littleness of politics. I’ve been tempted to give the whole thing up. But you put fresh courage into me. It’s because of you that I’ve been able to ignore the rest and just keep my eyes fixed always on the greatness of the aim.

CATHERINE.

[_Smiling._] It makes me so proud to hear you say that.

COLBY.

[_Lightly._] Did you read the speech I made yesterday?

CATHERINE.

No, I’m afraid I haven’t yet.

Colby.

[_Gaily._] Wretched woman! And every jack one of the papers has given a leader on it.

CATHERINE.

I’m so sorry. It’s horrid of me.

COLBY.

[_Laughing._] What nonsense! Of course you’ve had much more important things to think about.

CATHERINE.

Tell me all about it. I suppose it was the Army debate.

COLBY.

Yes, I burnt my ships behind me. I said I thought some form of compulsory service was essential. Perigal’s going to the country at once. I think we shall get in. And if we do ... I wish to goodness they’d give me the War Office. Of course, after six years in office we can only hope for a small majority, and every seat will count. I wonder what will happen at Middlepool.

CATHERINE.

George is very popular.

COLBY.

Yes, that’s just it. As long as he was there the seat was safe. I wonder if anyone else will be able to hold it.

CATHERINE.

Do you think it will be impossible for him to stand again?

COLBY.

Quite. And rightly. No man’s obliged to go into Parliament. If he does it’s his duty to keep clear of scandal.

[CATHERINE _gives a very slight start, and when she speaks her voice is not quite steady_.

CATHERINE.

That might be very difficult. A man might be an object of scandal, and yet be perfectly innocent. Supposing--a malicious person brought an action for divorce against him. It might be merely an attempt at blackmail. It would be monstrous to punish him for something that wasn’t his fault.

COLBY.

D’you honestly think that’s a possible case? If a man is shot at--it’s true he may not be technically guilty--but he can hardly be blameless. If a case can be made out at all against him he must have done something very foolish.

[CATHERINE _does not answer. She is terrified at what he says._

COLBY.

George Winter only went into the House for his private ambition. He contested a seat in order to give himself a stronger financial position, and now he wants to use his money to force himself into some sort of job. We’ve got no use for people like that.

CATHERINE.

[_As if she were changing the conversation._] I wonder what you’d do if you were beaten at the General Election?

COLBY.

[_With a laugh._] I don’t think my constituents will throw me out as long as I behave myself.

CATHERINE.

[_Smiling._] And if they did?

COLBY.

[_After a little pause._] It would just about break me up. Politics are my whole life. I can’t imagine existence without the House of Commons. And I have so much to do. If they’ll only give me a chance I want to.... [_Suddenly stopping himself._] But, good heavens, I’m just going to make a speech.

CATHERINE.

Oh, my dear, I’m so proud of you. I admire you so enormously.

COLBY.

[_Gaily._] Not yet. Hang it all, wait to admire me till I’m Minister of War.

CATHERINE.

[_With an affectionate smile._] You dear.... Now you must go. I’ve got ever so much to do, and I’m sure you ought to have.

COLBY.

Good-bye, then. God bless you.... Say something nice to me before I leave you.

CATHERINE.

I shall think of you all day long.

COLBY.

Thank you. Good-bye.

[_He goes out._ CATHERINE _sinks exhausted into a chair, but she hears_ GEORGE WINTER _approach and pulls herself together. He comes in with_ ETCHINGHAM.

GEORGE WINTER.

The great man has taken his hook?

[CATHERINE _acknowledges his remark with a look, but does not answer_.

GEORGE WINTER.

I heard his fairy footsteps on the stairs.

ETCHINGHAM.

Well, Catherine, I hope you’ve thought better of things.

GEORGE WINTER.

Well?

[_He looks at her with malicious amusement, and she, her head thrown back, stares at him with hatred and anger._

CATHERINE.

You think every man is a rogue, don’t you?

GEORGE WINTER.

Certainly not. I think nine men out of ten are rogues or fools. That’s why I make money.

CATHERINE.

And what’ll you do when you come across the tenth man, who’s neither rogue nor fool?

GEORGE WINTER.

[_Flippantly._] Put him under a glass case.

CATHERINE.

You may find him awkward to deal with. Take care.

GEORGE WINTER.

I shall. But I’ve looked for him so long that I can’t help thinking he doesn’t move in my set.... Now and then I’ve thought I’d really got him. But while I was scratching my head and wondering how the deuce I was going to manage, I’ve seen an itching palm steal softly out, and I knew it wasn’t the tenth man after all.

_The_ BUTLER _comes in_.

THOMPSON.

[_To_ GEORGE WINTER.] Mr. Bennett would like to speak to you, sir.

GEORGE WINTER.

Is he on the telephone?

THOMPSON.

No, sir. He’s here.

ETCHINGHAM.

What the deuce can he want?

GEORGE WINTER.

I’ll come down to him.

ETCHINGHAM.

No, let him come up. Perhaps it’s something important, and he’ll want to see me too.

GEORGE WINTER.

[_Drily._] Perhaps. Tell him to come up.

THOMPSON.

Very good, sir.

[_Exit._

CATHERINE.

Who is Mr. Bennett?

ETCHINGHAM.

He’s the secretary of two or three of our companies. He manages the office and that sort of thing.

GEORGE WINTER.

He does all the work for which your father gets fees.

ETCHINGHAM.

I don’t know about that. I flatter myself I’m worth my salt.

[_The_ BUTLER _shows in_ FREDERICK BENNETT. _He is a little man, thin, middle-aged, clean shaven, with a sharp face, and an extremely respectable appearance. He wears gold spectacles. He is in a tail coat and carries a tall hat in his hand. The_ BUTLER _goes out after announcing him_.

GEORGE WINTER.

What’s the matter, Fred?

BENNETT.

I went round to Portman Square, Governor, and they told me you were here; I thought I’d better come on at once.

ETCHINGHAM.

Nothing has happened, Mr. Bennett?

BENNETT.

No, my lord. [_To_ GEORGE WINTER.] May I speak to you for a moment, Governor?

GEORGE WINTER.

Yes. Etchingham, d’you mind ...?

ETCHINGHAM.

Of course not.

[_He goes up to_ CATHERINE, _who is standing at the window, and begins talking to her. The conversation between_ GEORGE WINTER _and_ BENNETT _proceeds in a lower tone, sinking almost to a whisper as it goes on_.

GEORGE WINTER.

What the devil’s the matter, Fred? You’re looking like a dying duck in a thunderstorm.

BENNETT.

There’s been a cable from Macdonald, Governor.

GEORGE WINTER.

Good business. And when’s the report due? I suppose it’s following.

BENNETT.

Yes.

GEORGE WINTER.

Why the deuce didn’t you ring me up? I’d have come down to the office at once. Now we’ve got that we can fire away.

BENNETT.

I wouldn’t risk it on the phone. You never know who’s listening.

GEORGE WINTER.

Drivel. You’re an old woman, Fred. Have you got it on you?

BENNETT.

It’s not what you expect, Governor.

GEORGE WINTER.

[_Seizing his wrist._] What the hell d’you mean?

BENNETT.

It’s rotten. It’s....

GEORGE WINTER.

[_Interrupting violently._] You filthy liar, what are you talking about?

BENNETT.

Take care, they’ll hear you.

GEORGE WINTER.

Where is it?

BENNETT.

I’ve got it in my pocket.

GEORGE WINTER.

If you’ve been playing the fool with me, Fred....

BENNETT.

[_Taking out the cable._] I’m in it as deep as you are.

[GEORGE WINTER _takes the cable, is just going to unfold it, when, sick with apprehension, he hesitates. He is too terrified to read it._

GEORGE WINTER.

What does it say, Fred?

BENNETT.

Why, there’s nothing there. We’ve been done in the eye. The mine’s worthless.

[GEORGE WINTER _turns away from him, a look of fear and bewilderment on his face. For a moment he hesitates uncertain what to do, then quickly makes up his mind and clenches his teeth._

BENNETT.

[_Going up to him._] Governor.

GEORGE WINTER.

If that’s true, the hundred thousand we paid for it might as well have been thrown down a drain-pipe.

BENNETT.

What are you going to do?

GEORGE WINTER.

Do? Fight it out.

ETCHINGHAM.

[_Coming forward._] Nothing serious, I hope, George?

GEORGE WINTER.

[_Over his shoulder._] Nothing.

BENNETT.

[_In a whisper._] You know what it means if you fail?

GEORGE WINTER.

The Old Bailey. But I shan’t fail.

_The_ BUTLER _comes in_.

THOMPSON.

Luncheon is ready, my lord.

END OF THE FIRST ACT.

THE SECOND ACT

_The scene is the same as in the preceding act, the drawing room of_ LORD FRANCIS ETCHINGHAM’S _house in Norfolk Street_.

_It is afternoon._ LADY FRANCIS _is seated, working at embroidery on a drum_. CATHERINE _stands at the window, looking out into the street_.

LADY FRANCIS.

Aren’t you tired, Kate?

CATHERINE.

[_Still looking out of the window._] No, mother.

LADY FRANCIS.

You were out all the morning.

CATHERINE.

I went to see my lawyers.

LADY FRANCIS.

[_With a sigh._] I can’t understand that with such a father and such a mother, you should be such a monster of determination.

[CATHERINE _neither answers nor turns_.

LADY FRANCIS.

[_After a quick look at her._] Dr. O’Farrell says your father will be well enough to come downstairs to-morrow.

CATHERINE.

I’m glad of that.

LADY FRANCIS.

This is the second attack of gout he’s had this year.

CATHERINE.

Poor old thing!

LADY FRANCIS.

Aren’t you tired of staring at the house opposite? You’re not expecting anyone, are you?

CATHERINE.

No.

LADY FRANCIS.

You’re dreadfully restless. [_With a faint smile._] I’m growing quite exhausted.

[CATHERINE _gives a little cry of astonishment and alarm_.

LADY FRANCIS.

What’s the matter?

CATHERINE.

[_Turning round and coming forward._] George has just driven up.

LADY FRANCIS.

I suppose he’s come to see your father.

CATHERINE.

They mustn’t let him up. I won’t see him. It’s monstrous that I should have to put up with this.

LADY FRANCIS.

My dear, don’t worry. George hasn’t made any attempt to see you for a fortnight.

[GEORGE WINTER _comes in hurriedly, unannounced; he shuts the door behind him_.

CATHERINE.

[_Indignantly._] What d’you want? You’ve got no right to force yourself upon me.

[_She makes a movement to leave the room, but he intercepts her. He takes a paper out of his pocket._

GEORGE WINTER.

I’ve just been served with this.

CATHERINE.

What else did you expect?

GEORGE WINTER.

Your father told me that nothing was going to be done for the moment.

CATHERINE.

I can’t help what father said. It’s my business. I can allow no one to interfere with me.

LADY FRANCIS.

What is that, George?

GEORGE WINTER.

Would you like to look at it? It’s an interesting document.

CATHERINE.

It’s the petition, mother.

LADY FRANCIS.

I wish I had my glasses. I’ve never seen one before.

GEORGE WINTER.

[_Grimly._] You’ve been lucky.

LADY FRANCIS.

[_With an acid smile._] Or virtuous.

GEORGE WINTER.

[_To_ _Catherine_.] You’ve got to withdraw this.

CATHERINE.

Surely you must see that from now all communications between us must pass through our lawyers.

GEORGE WINTER.

Rats!

[CATHERINE _crosses the room and rings the bell at the side of the fireplace_.

GEORGE WINTER.

What are you ringing for?

CATHERINE.

For Thompson to open the door for you.

GEORGE WINTER.

That’s excessively thoughtful of you.

CATHERINE.

Mother, can’t you protect me from this?

LADY FRANCIS.

My dear, your husband is six feet high, and broad in proportion. I’ll tell Thompson to kick him downstairs if you like....

GEORGE WINTER.

But it’s not a job that any well-regulated butler would enjoy.

[_The_ BUTLER _comes in, and waits for an order_.

GEORGE WINTER.

Oh, Thompson, I’m expecting three gentlemen here at five o’clock. You’ll show them into the library, and let me know the moment they come.

THOMPSON.

Very good, sir.

[_He goes out._

CATHERINE.

What do you mean by this?

GEORGE WINTER.

That’s precisely what I came to tell you.... I suppose you’ve been talking. There’ve been references to a dispute between us in the Middlepool papers, and the _Herald_, the Conservative rag, has stated in the current issue that you are divorcing me.

CATHERINE.

The Middlepool papers are singularly well-informed.

GEORGE WINTER.

That’s where you’re mistaken. The _Argus_ is printing a special edition with a complete and authoritative denial of the whole story. I’ve issued a writ for libel against the _Herald_.

CATHERINE.

One lie more or less on your conscience can make no great difference to you.

GEORGE WINTER.

I’ve explained your presence here by your susceptibility to fresh paint.

LADY FRANCIS.

What do you mean?

GEORGE WINTER.

[_With a chuckle._] The day after Kate left Portman Square I came to the conclusion that the house needed re-decorating. I’m having it papered and painted from cellar to attic. When it’s finished I shall start again.

LADY FRANCIS.

Fortunately the British workman takes his time.

GEORGE WINTER.

But that’s not enough. The Middlepool people are nervous about the whole thing. You know Swalecliffe--he’s the Nonconformist minister--one of those confounded busybodies who go poking their noses into everybody’s private life. He’s on my committee. He and Ford control the dissenting interest between them.... They’ve got it into their heads that they want the truth from you.

CATHERINE.

Me?

LADY FRANCIS.

Who is Ford?

GEORGE WINTER.

Oh, he’s the richest man in Middlepool. He’s one of my directors on the Middlepool Investment Trust. Hard as nails! Shrewd as they make ’em! But a Nonconformist to the tips of his fingers. He’s just built a Congregational church out of his own pocket. He’s a corker to deal with.

LADY FRANCIS.

But I don’t understand. What do these men want Kate to do?

GEORGE WINTER.

They’re coming here at five o’clock with Boyce, my agent, to ask Kate if there’s any truth in the rumours.

LADY FRANCIS.

But it’s outrageous!

GEORGE WINTER.

Of course it’s outrageous! But what d’you expect from a parcel of sneaking Middlepool dissenters?

LADY FRANCIS.

And what do you expect Kate to say?

GEORGE WINTER.

She’s going to say it’s the first she’s heard of it. Then they’re going to ask her if she’s divorcing me, and she’s going to--repudiate the suggestion with all the scorn at her command.

CATHERINE.

I refuse to see these people.

GEORGE WINTER.

Do you?

CATHERINE.

[_Satirically._] Or do you want me to tell them before your face that every word they’ve heard is true? Yes, I’ll see them. I’ll settle the whole thing. And then I shall be rid of this persecution. But I shall tell them the exact truth.

GEORGE WINTER.

[_Grimly humorous._] It’s not five o’clock yet.

[_The_ BUTLER _comes in, followed by_ MR. PERIGAL. _This is the Prime Minister. He is a stoutish man of middle height, clean-shaven, with abundant grey hair worn long. His face is sensual, shrewd and bland; his manner is kindly and restrained._

THOMPSON.

Mr. Perigal.

[_Exit._

LADY FRANCIS.

[_Cordially._] My dear Bob, this is kind of you.

PERIGAL.

How d’you do? Well, Kate?

CATHERINE.

You never come and see us now you’re Prime Minister.

PERIGAL.

It’s a delusion of the public that the Prime Minister has nothing to do but pay afternoon calls. [_He turns to_ GEORGE WINTER.] I’m very glad to see you here.

GEORGE WINTER.

On the best possible terms with my mother-in-law.

LADY FRANCIS.

Well, when are you going to dissolve Parliament?

PERIGAL.

[_Making himself comfortable in an arm-chair._] I’ve been so busy, I haven’t had time to read the papers for some days. What do they say about it?

LADY FRANCIS.

Don’t be irritating, Bob.

PERIGAL.

My dear, a wise Prime Minister looks upon it as a privilege to fulfil the intelligent anticipations of the press.

LADY FRANCIS.

I hope it’s not true that you’re going to give Emily Lascelles the Home Office?

PERIGAL.

Good heavens, you talk as if your sex were already comfortably installed in the House.

LADY FRANCIS.

You know perfectly what I mean. It doesn’t matter about the men, because all the work is done by the permanent officials. But their wives are quite another matter. I tell you frankly it will be a great mistake if Emily Lascelles goes to the Home Office.

PERIGAL.

Why?

LADY FRANCIS.

She can’t entertain. She doesn’t know a word of French. She dresses abominably.

PERIGAL.

[_Ironically._] That settles it. Emily Lascelles shall not go to the Home Office.

GEORGE WINTER.

[_With a smile._] That is how history is made.

LADY FRANCIS.

Oh, George, Frank bought a print of Napoleon the other day that he wants to show you. Do come up, will you?

GEORGE WINTER.

Of course.

LADY FRANCIS.

George collects things about Napoleon, you know.

PERIGAL.

Ah, the Napoleon of Finance.... I’m sorry to hear that Frank is laid up.

LADY FRANCIS.

Oh, he’s much better to-day. We shall only be five minutes.

[_She goes out with_ GEORGE WINTER.

PERIGAL.

How naturally your mother did that! It almost took me in.

CATHERINE.

[_Gravely._] Have you come to see me by arrangement?

PERIGAL.

I’m up to my eyes in work! I’m afraid I could hardly find time for a chat in the middle of the afternoon without a rather special object.

CATHERINE.

I suppose not.

PERIGAL.

But your husband’s presence leads me to suppose that your common sense has made my errand unnecessary.

CATHERINE.

Haven’t you heard of the life we led together?

PERIGAL.

I make a point of never believing the disagreeable things that are said about a man who subscribes so handsomely to the Party funds as your husband.

CATHERINE.

Then I have you against me too?

PERIGAL.

My dear child, I’ve known you all your life. Your mother is my first cousin. We all desire nothing more than your happiness.

CATHERINE.

George was served with the petition this morning.

PERIGAL.

Ah!... It appears that two prominent supporters of your husband are coming up from Middlepool this afternoon to get from your own lips a denial of the rumours that have been circulating in the constituency.

CATHERINE.

I can promise you that they’re not going to get it.

PERIGAL.

I wish I could persuade you to pause before you take such an irrevocable step.

CATHERINE.

But why should you care?

PERIGAL.

We’ve been in for six years. We’re dissolving Parliament at once. I don’t know if we shall get in again. It’ll be a very close shave. We can’t afford to risk a couple of seats....

CATHERINE.

A couple?

PERIGAL.

The Chief Whip tells me that your husband proposes to lodge a counter petition.

CATHERINE.

If it weren’t so odious, the idea would be laughable. I promise you that....

PERIGAL.

Yes, yes, of course. Neither you nor Robert Colby has anything to reproach himself with. That is obvious. But ... well, I gather that the evidence is such that a _prima facie_ case could be made out. It would be awkward just at this moment, for all of us--I myself could wish that my relationship to your dear mother weren’t quite so close. The British people for some reason always judge moral delinquencies on the Radical side with great severity. I have always thought it a hardship that the Tories should have a sort of prescriptive right to the more amusing forms of immorality.

CATHERINE.

Let us understand one another plainly. Do you mean that if my husband drags Robert Colby through the Divorce Court, you’ll throw Robert overboard, even if his innocence is proved through and through?

PERIGAL.

My dear, no one is so innocent that there’s not occasion for many people to shake their heads and say: One never knows. I don’t suppose any Prime Minister would invite a man to enter his cabinet who’d been co-respondent in a divorce suit.

CATHERINE.

It’s nothing short of blackmail. George makes no concealment of the fact.

PERIGAL.

He has a brutal frankness which is sometimes rather engaging.

CATHERINE.

Oh, you drive me mad. My whole happiness is at stake, and you can pause to smile at that odious cynicism.... You’ve known Robert and me all our lives. Won’t you believe in us? Won’t you stand by us?

PERIGAL.

[_Very kindly._] My dear, in the position entrusted to me I can’t take risks.... I dare say you know that one of the items in our programme is a modified form of compulsory service. I don’t know that I altogether like it myself, but it’ll take the wind out of the Tory sails, and we’ve got to do something. Robert has enthusiasm and he believes in the measure. He’s just the man to pilot it through the House.

CATHERINE.

He’s set his heart on getting the War Office.

PERIGAL.

[_Smiling._] Well, you have it in your hands to give it him.

CATHERINE.

I? Does he know that George Winter has made certain threats?

PERIGAL.

I think not.

CATHERINE.

Oh, what a responsibility you put upon me.

PERIGAL.

That generally goes with power, and at the moment you have that too.

CATHERINE.

[_After a moment’s reflection._] Robert and I have never hidden anything from one another. He wouldn’t wish me to decide on a matter that concerns us both so nearly without consulting him. Do you object to my putting the whole thing before him?

PERIGAL.

Not a bit! But I can tell you at once what his answer will be. He’ll say that he loves you, and if he must choose between you and everything that has seemed to make his life worth living, he chooses you without a moment’s hesitation.

[CATHERINE _gives a little sigh of relief and delight_.

PERIGAL.

But while he’s in the very act of renouncing the world for your sake, look into his eyes, and perhaps you’ll see in them--oh, only for a moment, and you’ll have to look sharply--the shadow, the merest shadow of regret.... And perhaps in ten years, when I bring an ill-spent life to a close, you’ll say to yourself: If I hadn’t sacrificed him, he might be standing now in the shoes of that poor old incompetent Perigal.

CATHERINE.

[_Hoarsely, more moved than she wishes to show._] I don’t believe Robert is ambitious.

PERIGAL.

You have to be a shrewd observer always to know the difference between ambition and patriotism.

CATHERINE.

I could think the world well lost for love.

PERIGAL.

Yes, but you’re a woman. D’you think a man can?

[CATHERINE _does not answer. Her face expresses the agony of her spirit as_ PERIGAL’S _words sink in_.

PERIGAL.

May I ring and ask if my carriage has come back?

CATHERINE.

Let me!

[_She rings the bell._

PERIGAL.

I asked Colby to fetch me in it so that we might run down to the House together.

[_The_ BUTLER _enters to announce_ ROBERT COLBY, _and goes out_.

THOMPSON.

Mr. Colby.

COLBY.

I thought I’d come up for one moment just to say how d’you do.

CATHERINE.

[_Forcing some gaiety of manner._] I should have been furious if you hadn’t.

PERIGAL.

Of course!... I’ll just go up and see your father.

CATHERINE.

He will be so pleased. I’ll take you up.

PERIGAL.