Dramas (Baillie)/The Alienated Manor/Act 3

by Joanna Baillie

ACT III.

SCENE I.—Charville's private Library. He is discovered sitting by a table with the letter in his hand.

CHARVILLE (reading).

My dear Charlotte, I rejoice so much in the happy chance."—Psha! I have read it a hundred times since yesterday. I'll look upon the hateful scrawl no more. (Tosses it from him, paces in a disordered manner about the room, then returns to it again.) What, does it take hold of me still? the fascination of a snake is about it; I cannot keep away from it: I must read that passage once more. (Sits down again and reads.) "Ah the cross fate that separates us so cruelly! We were once, as you know, within an ace of coming together, of consummating that dearest wish of my heart. Those dear woods of Oakenly! how dear they would then have been! The tender green boughs of spring with all their lovely blossoms would have smelt more fragrant; the birds would have sung more melodiously; the fair face of nature would have smiled more sweetly." These the sentiments, these expressions of one woman to another! It is as evidently a loveletter, as that my clenched fist presses this table. Some part indeed seems irrelevant; but far less ingenious commentators than our ancient text books have been handled by would find no difficulty in it at all.—Ay, plain enough: here is a good rule to try it by: substitute Robert for Charlotte, and there is sense in it; without this, it is a mass of absolute absurdity. All this pains! Why not? I have heard of most intricate ciphering made use of in such clandestine matters. This is simple and more ingenious still—and yet—pest take these tormenting incongruities! Go, vile scrap! I must tear thee to atoms or thou wilt craze my brain. (Tearing the letter furiously.)

Enter DICKENSON.

(Angrily.) Who's there?

DICKENSON.

Mr. Crafton wishes to speak with your Honour.

CHARVILLE.

Let him speak with the devil! are not the ladies below?

DICKENSON.

Yes, Sir; but he has express business with yourself, and would follow me up stairs.

CHARVILLE (in a whisper).

Is he behind thee?

DICKENSON.

Yes, Sir, close at hand.

CHARVILLE (in a low voice).

Let him come then, since it cannot be helped. (Gathering up the torn papers hastily while Crafton enters.)

CRAFTON.

Good morning. Sir; pray let me assist you.

CHARVILLE.

O Sir, I beg—I shall do it myself in a moment.

CRAFTON.

(Stooping.) Pray allow me; the pieces are as numerous, as if you had been plucking a goose, yet from your countenance I should rather have expected it to be a crow.

CHARVILLE.

No, nothing; an old tailor's bill that gave me trouble once, and I had a spite at it.

CRAFTON.

And you have wreaked your vengeance on it unsparingly.

CHARVILLE.

I think Dickenson said you were come to me on business. Have the goodness to be seated.

GRAFTON.

No I thank you; it can be settled in a few words.

CHARVILLE.

Well, Sir.

CRAFTON.

Our neighbour Dobson is going to sell his little farm; now it is a desirable possession for either of us, and I should like to add it to my own estate; yet I would by no means enter into competition with a purchaser of your calibre.

CHARVILLE.

I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Crafton; I'll consider of it; it is a very good aspect for apple trees.

CRAFTON.

For apples! you surely mistake me: it is Dobson's farm I mean; it is not my own little paddock, I assure you; that I will never part with.

CHARVILLE.

I beg your pardon: I heard you imperfectly. The farm! well, I shall consider of it. I am greatly obliged to you. Are you alone this morning?

CRAFTON.

Yes, my nephew is gone.

CHARVILLE.

Ha! gone! It is a delightful day for his journey: I am glad—I mean glad of the fine weather he is getting. I wish him a pleasant journey with all my heart.

CRAFTON.

He is not gone a journey; he is only sporting with Squire Ruddley; I expect him to dinner.

CHARVILLE.

That's all—I was afraid—I thought somebody had told me he was going to leave you soon.

CRAFTON.

Myself, perhaps; for I had no idea when he came to me that he would have staid so long. But he has been so happy since he came, and you have become such a kind and agreeable neighbour to him, that I don't know when he will go.—However, it is all very well, he has no agreeable home to go to, and I am the better for his company. I should not wonder now if he were to spend the best part of every summer with me.

CHARVILLE.

A very bad—I mean a very extraordinary arrangement. Why does he not marry?

CRAFTON.

Why, in the first place, he has little money to keep house upon, and he is so whimsical and scrupulous that he will marry no woman, forsooth, unless he be in love with her; and a young man's inclinations, you know, Charville, will not be controlled by prudence and propriety: they will wander here and there.—O dear! every where, where they should not. (After a long pause.) Well, you say you will consider of it. (Another pause.) Yes, I see you are considering of it.

CHARVILLE.

O no, not at all. The orchard-field that you wish me to purchase.

CRAFTON.

No no, my dear sir; the little farm which I do not wish you to purchase.

CHARVILLE.

I mean so, I mean so; I'll think of it at leisure.

CRAFTON.

And when you have done so, you will have the goodness to let me know the result.

CHARVILLE.

Certainly.

CRAFTON.

Good morning: I'll intrude upon your time no longer.

CHARVILLE.

Good morning.[Exit Crafton.

(Alone, after musing for a little.) "Every where, where they should not." Did he not glance at something in these words. "Young men's inclinations will not be controlled."—" Every where, where they should not."—I'll go live in the Hebrides—at Johny Grott's house—I'll travel for improvement to Kamschatka, rather than live here with such a neighbour as this at my elbow.—What noise is that?

Enter Dickenson.

What do you want?

DICKENSON.

Would you have the closet doors set to rights. Sir? the locksmith is here.

CHARVILLE.

Who sent for him now?

DICKENSON.

My mistress, Sir.

CHARVILLE.

For what purpose?

DICKENSON.

To have a better lock put upon the north door of her dressing room.

CHARVILLE.

On that door? has it not been nailed up for a long time?

DICKENSON.

Yes, Sir, but she has a fancy to have it opened.

CHARVILLE.

A fancy! I'll have no locksmiths: I'll have none of his jobs done here.

DICKENSON.

It would be so convenient for my lady, Sir; for it leads to the back staircase.

CHARVILLE.

It leads to the black devil!—Let him take his smutty face out of my house, I say; I'll have none of his jobs done here.

[Exit Dickenson.
Preparations making for some damned plot or other. O, if I could but devise some means of coming at the bottom of it!—Wonderfully anxious that I should go from home now and then; to amuse myself; to bring her the news, forsooth.—Could I but devise any means. (Stands a while considering, then takes a turn across the room with slow thoughtful steps, then rouses himself suddenly, and rings the bell.)

Re-enter Dickenson.

Yes, it is you that I want. I have something to say to you.

DICKENSON.

At your pleasure, Sir.

CHARVILLE.

It is the little cottage by the brook which you wished to have for your sister?

DICKENSON.

Yes, please your honour, but you said it could not be spared; so I would not tease you about it any more.

CHARVILLE.

She shall have it.

DICKENSON.

Bless your honour! and the widow's blessing shall be upon you also. It is so very good of you to think of that just now: it is more than I could have expected.

CHARVILLE.

Well, say no more about it; the cottage is hers.—(Dickenson bows gratefully, and is got as far as the door, to go away.)—Come back, Dickenson.

DICKENSON.

Your honour?

CHARVILLE.

This is not all I have to say, my good Dickenson.—(A pause, Dickenson expecting what he is further to say.) Hast thou ever been frolicsome in thy youth?

DICKENSON.

Sir!

CHARVILLE.

I don't mean in any bad way, Dickenson. Don't look so surprised, man: yet I think thou wilt be somewhat surprised when I tell thee what has come into my head.

DICKENSON.

It is not for me to judge of your honour's notions.

CHARVILLE.

Thou wilt hardly guess what I am going to say.

DICKENSON.

No, Sir, but something for your own good, I doubt not.

CHARVILLE.

Nay, don't look so grave; I am only going to try a little frolic.

DICKENSON.

That is what I should never have guessed, I confess.

CHARVILLE.

O! only a mere whim; every body has their whims: it is a whim in your mistress, now, to have that door opened.

DICKENSON.

Belike, Sir.

CHARVILLE.

But then you must hear what my whim is. I am to go from home, you know, this morning with Sir Level; but I shall soon leave him and return again, unknown to every creature in the family but thyself. Now, couldst thou provide some disguise for me that I may not be known?

DICKENSON.

Lord, Sir! every body in the house will know that anxious look of yours, and the sound of your voice.

CHARVILLE.

Do I look so very anxious, then?

DICKENSON.

Of late, Sir, you have; just, if I may be so bold, as though you thought somebody were hatching a plot against you.

CHARVILLE.

Ha! dost thou know of any plot?

DICKENSON.

Lord forbid, Sir! I'm sure that claret has been as honestly drank at your table

CHARVILLE.

Hang the claret! thou art as honest a butler as ever drew cork.—But as I said, Dickenson, I should like to remain for some time in the house disguised: is the new servant, who is coming to be trained under thee, known to any one in the family?

DICKENSON.

No, Sir, not a soul has ever seen him.

CHARVILLE.

Let me put on the livery intended for him, and prevent him from coming till my turn is served.

DICKENSON.

Lord, Sir! would you so far demean yourself?

CHARVILLE.

Never trouble thy head about that. Come and show me the livery, and I'll tell thee more about it afterwards. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The Drawing-room. A Table for Tea set out. Enter Dickenson carrying a Tea-board, which he places on the Table; and on the opposite Side Mrs. Smoothly, who goes prying about the Room.

DICKENSON.

What are you looking for, Mrs. Smoothly?

SMOOTHLY.

Only my mistress's work-bag: she desired me to finish the collar she has been working at so long. We poor waiting gentlewomen have all them tedious matters to finish, as it is called; that is to say, to do two thirds of the whole.

DICKENSON.

Yonder it lies: I desired my new man to clear the table for tea, and he has put every thing upon the chairs, I see, which he should not have done. But he'll know better by and by.

SMOOTHLY.

It will always be by and by with him, I fear, poor stupid oaf. I wonder you could bring such a creature into the family. Isaac tells me he has spilt a plate of soup on my mistress's gown at dinner, which is very hard upon me, Mr. Dickenson. To have the fingerless fool spoiling my perquisites!

DICKENSON.

You'll get the gown all the sooner for that: why, he's serving you, child.

SMOOTHLY.

Serving me! I should have had it in a fortnight, and not a smutch upon it. And what do you think of his sneaking behind doors, and listening too?—speak of the devil and he appears: I see him at this very moment lurking in the passage. (Calling off the stage.) Come in, sirrah; it is you I am talking of, and I'll say all I have said to your face. (Enter Charville, disguised in livery, and a silver waiter in his hand.) I say, sirrah, you are a dirty, sneaking, curious fellow. What business had you to stand listening at my lady's door when I was dressing her for dinner?

CHARVILLE.

I mistuke the door, gentlewoman, judging as how it was the parlour.

SMOOTHLY.

Take you care again, lest I mistuke your nose for the handle of the door, and give it such a turn as shan't be for the beautifying of that knave's face of yours.

DICKENSON.

Fy, Mrs. Smoothly! don't rate him so for a mistake.

SMOOTHLY.

Mistake truly! he mistakes every nook and corner in the house, where he can stick himself up to listen, for the parlour.—Take care, sirrah; for if I catch that snout of yours again where it should not be, I'll take the tongs in my hand, and treat you as St. Dunstan did the devil. I'll teach you to sneak, and to pry, and to haunt one so: I'll teach——

DICKENSON.

Nay, nay, Mrs. Smoothly, perhaps he is in love with you: you should have pity on the young man.

SMOOTHLY.

In love, indeed! Such a creature as that in love with me! I wonder, Mr. Dickenson, that a man of your sense and discretion should take upon you to bring such an oaf into genteel service. Wait till your master return; he'll not suffer such a shambling fellow in his house, I'll assure you.

CHARVILLE.

Mayhap measter may think better of me than you trow, gentlewoman.

SMOOTHLEY.

I trow this, however, that he'll make thee pay for thy prying. He likes that business himself too well to share it with thee, I can assure thee.

DICKENSON.

For shame, for shame! to put yourself in a passion for such trifles. Don't you hear the company coming from the dining room?

SMOOTHLEY.

Are they? (Snatches the work-bag from the chair, and exit.)

CHARVILLE (looking after her).

The fair, obliging, pretty-spoken Mrs. Smoothly! Heaven preserve us! What creatures we may find women to be when we get behind the curtain!—(To Dickenson). They're coming, you say. I'll retire to the darker end of the room; for Smitchenstault gave me such a look of examination at dinner, that I began to dread detection.

DICKENSON.

You need not fear him now, for he has taken his coffee below, and is retired to his room for the rest of the evening.

CHARVILLE.

Did my wife give him a hint to retire?

DICKENSON.

No, Sir? Why should she?

CHARVILLE.

O nothing!—No reason at all. I only thought she might have done so. He is tiresome enough sometimes, and—O no, no reason at all.

DICKENSON.

I think he has got some stones in his pocket, and is going to write something about his jolligy.

CHARVILLE.

He said that himself, did he?—Ha! Here they come.

DICKENSON.

I think you had better retire till they ring.
[Exeunt Charville and Dickenson, and enter Mrs. Charville and Mary, followed by Sir Robert Freemantle.

MRS. CHARVILLE.

But, Sir Robert, you have never said a word to me the whole day of the letter I sent to your care, and the elegant drawing on the envelope. You have surely received it.

FREEMANTLE.

I most surely have not.

MRS. CHARVILLE.

I gave it to the servant early in the morning. Can he have been so negligent?

FREEMANTLE.

The fault lies with my own man probably: he is a careless knave: I shall find it on my table when I go home.

MRS. CHARVILLE.

You will have a great loss, else, I assure you.

FREEMANTLE.

A drawing too!

MRS. CHARVILLE.

Yes; a most beautiful sketch of the curious bat, which you thought might be of the same kind with that which you caught last summer in Cornwall.

MARY.

But the greatest loss of all would be Miss Freemantle's.

MRS. CHARVILLE.

Hush, child! keep my secret.

MARY.

It wont keep.

MRS. CHARVILLE.

Then, I'll tell it myself. Long ago, Charlotte and I wrote romantic sentimental letters to one another, in imitation of the novels we were then so fond of; and now I have commenced my correspondence with her again in style, that will, I know, afford her a good hearty laugh, if she don't think my head turned altogether.

FREEMANTLE.

Is it sealed up? Could not one have a peep at it?

MRS. CHARVILLE.

Not for the world. But if you have great pleasure in reading curious letters, Mary can indulge you with one. She has a curiosity in her possession that is worth the gold of Ophir. Pray go and fetch it, my dear sister, if there be any good nature in thee, and I know thou hast a great deal.

MARY.

So entreated, how can I resist?

FREEMANTLE.

Must you have the trouble of going for it? O! no, no. I'll see it another time.

MARY.

Indeed it is no trouble; I shall find it presently.Exit.

FREEMANTLE.

And in the mean time shall we examine that bust with the light cast down upon it? You will find that it has, so viewed, a beautiful effect. (Takes a candle from the table, and goes behind a large screen at the bottom of the room, followed by Mrs. Charville, when, from the door left ajar by Mary, enters Charville.)

CHARVILLE.

So, so, so! The philosopher sent off, and my sister sent off, and the screen to befriend them besides. (Hearing them speak indistinctly behind the screen.) Speaking low, too. Cautious enough, I find. Something bad in so much caution. (Drawing softly near the screen.)

FREEMANTLE. (behind the scene.)

Such beauty and expression!

CHARVILLE.

Ay, ay, ay! The devil himself hath no need of the forbidden fruit, if he will talk to a woman of her beauty.—(They speak again indistinctly.) What are they saying now? It sounded like husband. O virtuous lady! she recollects that she has a husband.—Some little impediment to be sure.

FREEMANTLE. (as before).

And that look of modesty, too, forbidding all—(the rest of the sentence spoken indistinctly).

CHARVILLE.

Her modesty indeed! that wont stand in the way.—They speak low again: they are whispering now. They are; flesh and blood can endure it no longer! (Running to the table, and throwing some of the china on the floor, when Freemantle and Mrs. Charville, alarmed by the noise, come hastily from behind the screen.)

MRS. CHARVILLE.

That awkward fellow again breaking more china.—(To Charville). This seems to be your only occupation in the family, Barnaby! Ha, ha, ha! how bewildered he looks! What brought you here now? You should never come but when the bell rings.

CHARVILLE.

Lud! They be always ringing in my ears, bells here and bells there, and silver cups a clattering. I does not know when I be wanted.

MRS. CHARVILLE.

I'm sure, Barnaby, I does not know neither; for I know nothing on this earth that one could want thee for, unless it were, for spite, to hand a cup of tea at a time to scald a neighbour's fingers.—(To Freemantle as Charville retires.) Did you ever see such a looking creature?

FREEMANTLE.

I don't know; he puts me strangely in mind of somebody or other, and I can't recollect who. Where does he come from?

MRS. CHARVILLE.

Dickenson says from Yorkshire.

FREEMANTLE.

It may be so, but his dialect belongs to no county in England that I am acquainted with.—(Mary heard speaking without). Don't stand here, young man; keep below till you are called for.

Re-enter Mary.

MARY.

Here is the letter,—a love-letter from an old schoolmaster to his mistress: but you must read it, sister, for I can't do it justice.

MRS. CHARVILLE.

As you please, but make us some tea first; the cramp words that are in it require a ready articulation.

Mary begins to prepare tea, when enter Dickenson, and Charville peeping behind him.

DICKENSON.

Ladies, I am sorry to alarm you, but there is a man below who says, he has found a person at the foot of a tree, not far from the house, who seems to be in pain, and that when he spoke to him the voice which answered him again resembled my master's.

MRS. CHARVILLE.

Foolish fancy! but let us relieve the poor man whoever he may be. (Exeunt Mary and Freemantle hastily.) It is a cold night, sister; stay and put on a shawl.—(To Dickenson.) Bring me that shawl from the next room.—(Charville gives a sign to Dickenson, and goes for the shawl himself.) Surely, Dickenson, you don't believe that it can possibly be Mr. Charville: you would be more alarmed if you thought so. There is some trick in this: I know it by that smile on your face. (Dickenson retires without answering, and Charville re-enters with the shawl.) That is a lace shawl, foolish fellow, bring me the other. That would keep nobody warm, and be torn on the bushes besides.

CHARVILLE. (rending the shawl in anger, and speaking in his natural voice).

And let it be torn into a thousand pieces! A bit of paltry lace, or any thing, is of more importance to you than the fate of your miserable husband.

MRS. CHARVILLE.

Ha! is it you?

CHARVILLE.

Ay, you may start as if you saw an apparition from another world.

MRS. CHARVILLE.

Nay, there is nothing like the other world about you. That coat and wig, and that ludicrous visage of yours, belong neither to angel nor demon, and are altogether earthly, I assure you; much more an object of laughter than of fear. Ha! ha! ha! What made you put on such a ludicrous disguise? If I were a vain woman, now, I should think you were jealous.

CHARVILLE.

Call it by what name you please, Madam; but the levity of your conduct, the unblushing partiality shown on every occasion to that minion of your fancy, your total want of regard for myself, but poorly concealed under the mask of easy general carelessness, has raised up that within me which every man must feel, who is not as insensible as the earth on which he treads.

MRS. CHARVILLE.

And you have, in serious earnestness, thus disguised yourself to be a spy upon my conduct. And you have, no doubt, made some notable discovery to justify your suspicion.

CHARVILLE.

Madam, madam! this is no time for trifling. It is for you to justify—I mean explain those appearances, if they have indeed deceived me. Why is Sir Robert Freemantle so often in this house, and received by you with such indecorous pleasure and familiarity?

MRS. CHARVILLE.

Had you asked me that question before with open and manly sincerity, you should have had an answer as open and sincere; but since you have preferred plots, and disguises, and concealment, even make it out your own way. It would be an affront to your skill and sagacity to satisfy your curiosity independently of them. (Going.)

CHARVILLE.

Do you mean to expose me to the whole house?

MRS. CHARVILLE.

No, Charles; you can never be exposed, cruel as you are, without my sharing in the shame.—Oh! oh! has it come to this.[Exit weeping.

CHARVILLE.

Ha! does she weep? (Running after her, and then stopping short.) No, no! she does not: there is too much parade with her cambric handkerchief for real tears: she does not weep; and yet I could tear my hair for spite that she does not.[Exit.

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