Chapter 9

TREBELL. [_Shaking his head, unmoved._] My dear sister ... I should be bored to death. The life contemplative and peripatetic would literally bore me into a living death.

FRANCES. [_Letting it be a fairy tale._] Is your mother the Wide World nothing to you? Can't you open your heart like a child again?

TREBELL. No, neither to the beauty of Nature nor the particular human animals that are always called a part of it. I don't even see them with your eyes. I'm a son of the anger of Man at men's foolishness, and unless I've that to feed upon...! [_Now he looks at her, as if for the first time wanting to explain himself, and his voice changes._] Don't you know that when a man cuts himself shaving, he swears? When he loses a seat in the Cabinet he turns inward for comfort ... and if he only finds there a spirit which should have been born, but is dead ... what's to be done then?

FRANCES. [_In a whisper._] You mustn't think of that woman....

TREBELL. I've reasoned my way through life....

FRANCES. I see how awful it is to have the double blow fall.

TREBELL. [_The wave of his agony rising again._] But here's something in me which no knowledge touches ... some feeling ... some power which should be the beginning of new strength. But it has been killed in me unborn before I had learnt to understand ... and that's killing me.

FRANCES. [_Crying out._] Why ... why did no woman teach you to be gentle? Why did you never believe in any woman? Perhaps even I am to blame....

TREBELL. The little fool, the little fool ... why did she kill my child? What did it matter what I thought her? We were committed together to that one thing. Do you think I didn't know that I was heartless and that she was socially in the wrong? But what did Nature care for that? And Nature has broken us.

FRANCES. [_Clinging to him as he beats the air._] Not you. She's dead, poor girl ... but not you.

TREBELL. Yes ... that's the mystery no one need believe till he has dipped in it. The man bears the child in his soul as the woman carries it in her body.

_There is silence between them, till she speaks low and tonelessly, never loosing his hand._

FRANCES. Henry, I want your promise that you'll go on living till ... till....

TREBELL. Don't cry, Fanny, that's very foolish.

FRANCES. Till you've learnt to look at all this calmly. Then I can trust you.

TREBELL _smiles, not at all grimly._

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 a 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 men 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...!