Collected works of e m d.., p.590
Collected Works of E M Delafield, page 590
(gaining in eloquence and fire as she proceeds): What does a strike mean . . . appeal . . . sense of fair play. Don’t refuse to hear me . . . I ask you to remember . . . and play the game! (From this point onwards, Caroline becomes frankly declamatory, using her hands freely to emphasise her appeal with impassioned gestures.) I’ve come down amongst you because I don’t believe you’ll refuse to listen to me. (Here she pauses dramatically, and, when she resumes her speech, has dropped her voice several tones lower.) I want you to tell me your grievance, and let me put your point of view before your employer. Will you trust me to do that? You all know me — I know you ——
[In her ever-increasing eloquence, Caroline fails to notice that Owen has now returned, dressed for dinner, and is standing gazing at her in considerable astonishment.
I look round me — and what do I see ——
[She sees Owen — and breaks off dead. They stare at one another in a petrified silence.
I — I didn’t — did you —— ? (Trying to recover herself) I was just —— (Replaces chair.)
Owen (gently and kindly): Yes — rather. I — I thought you were. That’s perfectly all right, Caroline. I understand.
Caroline (covering her face with her hands): Oh, how stupid one is!
Owen: Don’t. I do understand.
Caroline (suddenly dropping her hands, and turning to face him with real sincerity): Oh, I wonder if you do. Of course, I’ve made a fool of myself. You heard me just now, I suppose — you must have thought I was mad.
[She gazes at him. Owen draws up a chair and sits down near her.
Owen (gently): Don’t you suppose that most of us have done that kind of thing at one time or another?
Caroline: Oh, yes. At one time, perhaps. But not at another. I’ll be perfectly honest with you, Owen. I’m getting very near for — well, I’m — I’m past thirty.
Owen: We don’t all grow up at the same age.
Caroline: Sometimes I wonder if women ever do grow up altogether. The eternal schoolgirl is there, somehow — underneath everything else — dramatising, and attitudinising. Oh, if you only knew the sort of stories I sometimes make up to myself, even now!
Owen (gentle and interested): Tell me.
Caroline (as she goes on, speaking more to herself than to Owen): A woman wants romance, so much more than a man does — and she’s so apt to look for it in personal relations — and it’s never there. Men don’t do that, do they?
Owen: Not very often.
Caroline: Once, I was sitting out in the moonlight on a summer’s evening with — with a man. It was at a dance, and I remember that we could just hear the music in the distance. I thought I was looking rather nice — it was ten years ago — and I felt him looking at me. And then, at last, after a long silence, he spoke. He said: “What extraordinarily interesting things bulbs are!”
Owen: What, in heaven’s name, made you marry him after that?
Caroline: It wasn’t after that. It was on our honeymoon. But I didn’t mean to say ——
Owen: No. I know you didn’t.
Caroline: But you guessed. There are so few men who guess anything at all, that one gets careless.
Owen: I’m afraid you think men are extraordinarily dense.
Caroline: Well, I’m not really talking about men at all — only about husbands.
Owen: Are they so different?
Caroline: Quite. Men notice women’s clothes — and send them flowers — and sometimes make love to them. Husbands don’t really notice one’s there, unless the bath water happens to be cold the meals unpunctual.
Owen: I don’t believe all husbands are like that.
Caroline: No. Men never do, until they’re married.
Owen: That’s what Jill says.
[Re-enter Jill. She has now changed into evening dress.
Jill: I had an awful fear I was late — knowing how Freddie hates unpunctuality.
Caroline: Jill, what a heavenly frock! Come here.
[Jill comes up to her sister, and they analyse Jill’s dress.
Turn round. . . . Yes, I see — that’s the line at the back — and the new waist. . . . Bright colours suit you.
Jill: They’d suit you, too. You’re much too pale for black, if you don’t mind my saying so, darling. If you’re going to wear black, you need lots and lots of make-up.
Caroline: You know quite well I never use it.
Jill: Yes, I know.
Caroline: Freddie hates it. Besides, it takes so long to rub off at bedtime, and he’s always sleepy then.
Jill: Caroline, I’d like to take you to Paris for a month, and give you a course of unlimited clothes, and lipsticks, and beauty-parlours, and cocktails, and admirers.
Owen: Hear, hear!
[Caroline looks round at him.
Yes, my dear, I quite agree with Jill. You know, you’ve got an inferiority complex. Now, if you simply went to Freddie and said ——
[Enter Freddie, in evening clothes. Owen’s tone changes abruptly.
Freddie: Dinner’s late!
Owen: Oh — er — hullo, old man!
Freddie: Why hasn’t the gong rung? (He goes to the bell, with the evident intention of ringing it.)
Caroline: Oh, don’t ring! It’s only just after eight, and you know they’re short-handed just now.
Owen: Perhaps this clock’s fast.
Freddie: Keeps perfectly good time. I’ll wait two minutes more, and then I shall ring and ask why dinner’s not in. (He takes up his stand in front of the fire, watch in hand.)
Caroline (in an agony): Dear, please don’t. She’s only a temporary cook, and if she’s offended she’ll go — and Emma is so unsettled as it is ——
[Her voice dies away, as Freddie holds up his hand, still watching the watch. They all fall silent, waiting nervously.
Freddie: One minute more ——
Jill (aside to Owen): I shall scream, I know ——
[Into the midst of this tense silence the telephone bell suddenly sounds, making them all start. Caroline springs to it, and takes up the receiver.
Caroline: Yes — yes, it is. Oh — Mr. Williams — yes — he’s here — one second.
[She hands the receiver to Freddie, who takes her place.
Freddie: Yes, is that you, Williams?
Caroline (to Jill agitatedly): This means that the men at the paper-mill are coming out on strike.
Freddie (into the telephone): I’d better come down? Yes, I see ——
Caroline: It is a strike.
[Freddie signs for silence. As he does so, the gong in the hall sounds loudly.
Freddie (into the telephone): The men are . . . yes, I see. (When the gong starts, Freddie gesticulates wildly to Owen to go and stop it. Owen rushes to the door.) Hullo, hullo, are you there? Don’t cut me off. (He jerks the hook without avail.) Are you there? (Gong stops.) Damn the thing! It seems to have gone dead all of a sudden. (Drops the receiver.)
Caroline: Perhaps they’ve cut the wire!
Freddie: Nonsense.
Owen: What’s happened, Freddie?
Freddie: My fool of a foreman has been working the men up — making them drink, probably. Williams has lost his head. He says they’re getting out of hand — and that’s the moment the operator chooses to cut me off. (Slams down receiver and stamps across to fireplace.)
Jill: What’s going to happen?
Owen: Well, I should think Freddie and I had better go down to the mill, and ring up the police on our way through the village.
Caroline: There’s no telephone in the village, and the nearest police station is five miles away.
Owen: Good Lord! What a country!
Jill: Oh, Freddie, do let me play Paul Revere and make a dash with the car. Or perhaps the house is surrounded — I must see.
[Jill goes out on to the porch through the still uncurtained window.
Freddie (irritated): Wait a minute — wait a minute.
[Enter Emma.
Emma: Dinner is served, madam.
Caroline: Dinner!
Freddie: You and Jill had much better go and have yours.
Caroline: No, of course we can’t. Anything may be going to happen.
Freddie (crossly): Absolute rot, your getting yourselves all worked up like this. What on earth does Jill think she’s doing, dashing about like a bluebottle?
Owen: Upon my word, Freddie, that’s rather an extraordinary thing to say. She’s perfectly right — you ought to get hold of the police. Why, these fellows may do anything once they’ve got some drink in them. They may come up here, and start rioting ——
[A faint exclamation here breaks from Emma, whom they have all forgotten and who is listening in growing alarm. Caroline signs frantically to Owen to be quiet.
Caroline: Attention! Prenez garde! La femme de chambre! — Oh, Emma, I think dinner had better go back to the kitchen for the present. I’ll ring — I’ll let you know when we’re ready.
Emma: Very good, madam. (Exit.)
Freddie: Absurd — encouraging the servants to think unpunctuality doesn’t matter!
Caroline: But, Freddie, aren’t you going down to find out what’s happening?
Freddie: Of course I am, but there’s no such terrific hurry. I’m going to have a drink first, and then try that telephone again. (Moves towards the bell.)
Caroline (hurriedly): You needn’t ring — there’s whisky and soda on the dining-room sideboard.
Freddie: Oh, all right. Like a drink, Owen?
Owen: Thanks, I think I will.
[Exit Freddie, leaving the door open. Owen makes to follow, but, noticing Caroline, goes to her.
It’s all right, Caroline. Freddie’ll get a move on directly. He just wants time to — to realise what’s happening, I expect.
Caroline: Yes, yes, that’s it. And he does so hate anyone making a fuss — especially me.
Owen: A fuss! Why, you’re being perfectly wonderful!
[Caroline gives him a sudden smile at this tribute, and they look at one another for a few seconds in silence.
Freddie (off): Come on, Owen! (Owen exits.)
[Caroline goes to mirror and is tidying her hair when Jill reappears at the window.
Jill: No excitement whatever, I’m sorry to say! Why — where are they?
Caroline: Only fetching whiskies and sodas from the dining-room.
Jill: It’s funny, whenever there’s a crisis, men always go and have a drink, and women always go and look at themselves in the glass.
[Re-enter Freddie and Owen with glasses.
Freddie: Now, then, I’ll try this telephone again.
[He goes to it and lifts receiver, with same negative result as before. During the ensuing agitated dialogue between Caroline and Owen, Freddie remains seated by the telephone, looking from one to the other of them with great disapproval.
Caroline: Oh, what is the good of that, when we know the wire’s been cut?
Owen: I must say that wire-cutting looks as though someone meant mischief.
Freddie: The line’s probably out of order.
Caroline: No, no, I’m certain it’s been cut. Freddie, how can you sit there and do nothing?
Freddie (goaded): What on earth do you want me to do, dear?
Caroline: Fetch the car! Go down to the mill! See the men yourself — talk to them!
Freddie: This everlasting talking ——
Jill: Let me drive you to the mill, Freddie, and then push on and warn the police.
Caroline: Yes, yes, and I’ll come with you.
Freddie: Good God, no.
Caroline: Don’t you want me, Freddie?
Freddie: Of course I don’t, dear. You’d be horribly in the way.
Jill (to Caroline): You said you were starting a cold. You’ll only make it worse if you go out. I’ll run Freddie down to the mill, and then go on to the police station.
Freddie: We don’t know that there’s any need for the police at all, at present. All this fussing . . . (Rises.)
Owen: Look here, let me —— (Opening door for Jill.)
Jill: No, no. You stay and protect Caroline. I’ll just get my coat from the hall.
[Exit Jill.
Caroline (to Freddie): Freddie, if it’s dangerous — I want to come with you.
Freddie: Please don’t be tiresome, dear.
Caroline: But really ——
Freddie: Tell them to keep some dinner, but don’t wait for us, whatever you do. I daresay we shan’t be long.
[Re-enter Jill in her motoring coat, and carrying Freddie’s coat.
Jill (delighted): Quite ready. Here’s your coat! (She helps Freddie into it.)
Owen: Look here, hadn’t I better —— ?
Jill: No, you hadn’t.
Caroline: Freddie, do let me go with you. I — I might be able to say something to the men.
[Jill and Freddie are by this time at the door, but at this Freddie turns round, showing real alarm for the first time.
Freddie: “Say something to the men”! Upon my soul, Caroline, I am certain you’d better go upstairs and lie down. You’ve been overwrought the whole evening, dear. I’ve noticed it. “Say something to the men!!”
[Exit Freddie, followed by Jill.
Caroline (following): But, Freddie ——
[CURTAIN goes down on her fruitless appeal.
ACT II
SCENE I
Takes place in the drawing-room forty minutes later.
Caroline and Owen come into the room, having presumably just finished dinner. Caroline goes to the window and draws back the curtain, and looks out. Owen tries the telephone without result.
Caroline: If only one knew what was happening!
Owen (very nicely and kindly): Do you know, that’s the seventh time you’ve said that since we sat down to dinner?
Caroline: Is it? I’m very sorry.
Owen (as before): Not at all.
Caroline: I ought to have gone down to the mill, you know. (With sudden passion.) Freddie ought to have let me go.
Owen: What about that cold?
Caroline: It wasn’t that. You know it wasn’t. I don’t suppose he even knows that I have a cold. It was just that he didn’t want me there.
Owen: He didn’t want any of us there, if it comes to that, otherwise I suppose I should have had to go, whereas I much prefer to spend the evening here with you.
Caroline: That’s very nice of you. I’m afraid I’m not a particularly good companion, though. You see, I can’t help being worried at the thought of this wretched strike.
Owen: Worried at the thought of missing it, you mean.
Caroline (astonished): No, I don’t. (With a change of tone) Or do I?
Owen: Oh, I think so. Beyond a doubt. If you don’t mind my saying so.
Caroline (slowly): I don’t think I mind at all. Does any woman ever mind being talked to about herself?
Owen: Some of them only like compliments. But I don’t think that’s what you want, somehow. What you want, Caroline —— (He pauses, looking at Emma, who has just entered with coffee-tray.)
[Caroline gazes back, her chin resting on her hand, entirely absorbed.
Caroline: Go on. (Owen’s look makes her aware of Emma’s presence. In an unnatural voice, making conversation for Emma’s benefit, she continues) It’s really most extraordinary about the telephone. Of course, one does get a temporary block on the line sometimes.
Owen: Oh, rather. Quite often, in fact.
Caroline: Otherwise, I daresay Freddie would have rung up to say how things are going.
Owen: I expect he would.
Caroline (laughing artificially): Not that I suppose they’re at all serious, really. Freddie’ll just say a word or two . . .
Owen: Yes. Not more, I shouldn’t think.
[They watch Emma as she goes out, and relax again as the door closes behind her.
Caroline, what do you really want out of life?
Caroline (with simplicity): Not very much. Only just to be perfectly happy. Always.
Owen: And loved — and admired — and successful — I suppose?
Caroline: Am I as egotistical as all that? Perhaps I am.
Owen: Most of us are, only we don’t admit it. We only admit that — somehow — it’s all gone wrong, and our dreams aren’t coming true.
Caroline: Do you feel that too?
Owen: Sometimes.
Caroline: But you can still make your life whatever you want it to be. You haven’t —— (She breaks off, and is silent for a moment. Then suddenly exclaims) I’d give the world for someone to tell me that I haven’t made a muddle of everything!
Owen: No. To tell you that you have made a muddle of everything — and that it doesn’t matter a bit.
Caroline: Owen! I never knew you understood women so well.
Owen: Perhaps you’d forgotten that I’m not an Englishman.
Caroline: Of course. You see, the average Englishman — well ——
Owen: Every Englishman is an average Englishman. It’s a national characteristic.
Caroline: Do you know, I feel to-night as though I’d gone back years and years, and could cast off what Jill calls all my inhibitions. I think it’s the excitement about the strike.
Owen: Even that is mostly imagination.
Caroline: You don’t understand. When I’m told that the men have called a meeting and are getting out of hand, I see them rioting — wrecking the mill — lynching the foreman — I see Freddie shot, and the house in flames. In less than five minutes, I’ve taken my boys away from school, and am settling down with them in Australia.
Owen (gravely): I see.
Caroline: When I hear that one of the children has a cold, I — I practically choose the hymns for the funeral on the spot.
Owen: I shall never, never understand how you came to marry Freddie Allerton.
Caroline (startled): Oh! I can’t possibly discuss that with you.
[Enter Emma, who collects the coffee-cups. Owen and Caroline converse, as before, on artificial topics.
