 Act 3 of the Squire by Arthur Wing Pinero. Act 3. Goodbye. Scene. The same as in Act 2. Daylight. The curtains over the window recesses are drawn back. The fire is burning brightly. It is afternoon. The sun sets as the act advances. All lights full. Red lime right for fire. Red lime on slot behind cloth for sun. Amber lime behind transparent cloth right. Ditto left to be worked on at queue. Music for act drop. Clear lamp and book from table. Lamp from bureau and shut bureau up. Left window open. Laughter and voices off left as curtain rises. Till Christy gets to window then a voice. There is Christy. She shuts window. Ah, we're not good enough for Christy. Merma's from all. Christiana enters upstaged or left. There is the distant sound of rough laughter. She looks out of left centre. What a lot of animals. Ugh. How awful. Common people look when they're clean. Comes down centre. Isod's head appears in doorway left. Christy. Merma turning sharply. Hello. Isod entering. What's wrong with a squire? Eel, she says. Hush. Pointing to door right. She's in there. What do you want, dear? Coin. Falls back up right centre as gunion enters door left, much perturbed. He is a tired in his grandest wearing a large rosette of coloured ribbons. We're a squire. That's what I want to know. Hush. She's in her room. What's the matter? Gunion, sitting on stool centre, wiping his forehead. Hum puntuality's the matter. A lot of them's not come yet. The fiddle ain't come. The mercury ain't come. I don't give them a single sentiment till mercury's here to take me down. He wants somebody here to take you down. Feldergrocer's not come. If he hadn't been asked, he would have held. Now he has been asked, he's from marching in late like a prince. Rising. On the master of ceremonies I am. Take care he don't find himself eaved out. You're quite right, gunion. Act up to your ribbons. Gunion going to door left. Oh, that'll do. The squires made me what I am this blessed day. I'm squires representative I am, and they'll find me darn unpleasant. He goes off left, muttering. John Parsley ain't come. Old Buckle ain't come. Moldy Green ain't come. Izod comes down right centre. Go away, Izod, and keep quiet till you're wanted. I tell you I want coin. Sniffing. I've got such an awful cold through lying under those ricks in the mist. I want coin. I haven't any. Then I don't open my mouth to the person about what I saw last night. I tell you I want coin. What for? Izod, reflectively. For, for, to buy a pocket anchorchief. Christiana hurriedly takes out her purse. How much? Izod, after consideration. Six and six cents. For a pocket anchorchief? I want a rather large-sized pocket anchorchief. Christiana gives him the money, then listens. Looking towards right. Somebody's coming. Go away. Izod slouches off left as Felicity enters door right. Now then you. Yes, Miss Christiana? Christiana takes a letter from the pocket of her apron and holds it up, then puts it behind back. It was a pretty thing, and a very pretty thing. I know it was the owner of this pretty thing. You shan't have it till you guess what it is. A letter for the squire? No. For me? Yes. Give it me please. She holds out her hand for it. Christiana puts the letter behind her. Oh, is it from? How am I to know till I see it? Yes. How did you get it? It was left here this morning by a common soldier. Felicity jumps with glee. Oh, it's from Tom. He's not common. He's a sergeant. How dare you keep my letter all day? Christiana holds up the letter, reading the address. Miss Felicity Gunyan, image it. Image it. It can't even spell properly. That's a good match for a girl. Felicity indignantly. I can't spell it all. It's a very good match. She snatches the letter from Christiana and opens it. Aside. Oh, dear Tom. She crosses to sofa left. That's his smudge. He always begins with a smudge. She sits on couch left and reads. Christiana watches her grimly. Dear Miss Gunyan. Dear Miss Gunyan. Oh, Tom. She reads quickly. How is he? What does he call you? Lovey or Popsie? He smokes bad tobacco. I shouldn't cover him to kiss me. Felicity wiping her eyes in great distress, crying. Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Oh, dear. She takes her earrings from her ears and throws them over the back of the couch. Hello. What's wrong with the earrings? He sent them to me. You are quite right, Miss Christiana. He is common. He's the commonest, worst man in Peggy Barracks. I'm glad of it. It serves you right. You shouldn't sneak into other women's shoes. She goes off left. The harvest people are heard again in the distance, singing a rough chorus. Offstage, left, up, centre, laugh. A song! A song! A song! Wrapping mugs on table. Silence, yep. The countryman's song. The charity enters towards end of song from door right, looking white and worn, without noticing Felicity. She crosses slowly to window left, enters the recess, opens casement and looks out. The villagers, who are supposed to be enjoying themselves in the court below, break off their singing as Kate appears and cry out to her. There's Squire! How are you, Squire? Are you better, Squire? Kate nods and closes window, murmurs gradually subsiding. She sits on the sofa, left centre. Felicity rises and crosses to go off right down and turns as Kate speaks. Why, Felicity, what a sad little face. Felicity goes to Kate with her letter. I've had awful bad news, Squire. Well, sensible, strong-minded creatures like you and me are not to be knocked over by a little bad news. Patting Felicity's head kindly. What is it? Felicity kneels at Kate's side. Oh, Squire, dear, listen to this. Dear Miss Gunion, fancy that, Squire, from Tom Morris. The news have come to Pagley that our regiment is the next for India. Kate starts. The orders are posted that we embark in ten days from this present in the Orion. Stop. For India. Eric's regiment. She covers her face with her hands. Oh! What's the matter, Squire? Nothing, dearie. Don't mind me. Go on. I have been thinking of the matter careful and have come to the conclusion that the climate of India would not agree with your health, it being a swelterer. I therefore let you off of your engagement, but have spoke to old Stibbs, the butler, Mrs. Thorndykes, who has saved money and wants for to marry again. And I have mentioned you as a steady, hard-working lass who would make any man's home a palace. Send me back the silver earrings you had from me, as they will only remind you of him you have lost. So no more from your heart-broken Tom, oh, Squire. Kate kisses Felicity on the forehead. Thank heaven on your knees, little woman, that you can never be that man's wife. Felicity rises and dries her eyes. I'm sure I'm very glad of it. Oh, Squire, them soldiers are a bad deceiving lot. The king has their chests padded and so girls think they've got big hearts, but it's all wadding, Squire. It's all wadding. Goes up right. Gunnion enters door left. I'm darned if this ain't almost too much for an old man. Calling off at door. Come on, wee. Rob John's junior enters, attired in his best, and carrying his fiddle in a green bae's bag. He has a white hat in his hand. Oh, got him at last. Blessed if he ain't been dressing himself since nine o'clock this morning. Well, Squire, I'm truly sorry that I'm two hours and a half beyond time, and I hope it'll make no difference. No, no. But fact is, Squire, father's lingering in a most aggravating way, and rare work I had to get the hat from him. The hat? Rob John's, holding out the hat. Father's white hat, Squire, is full of earthly pride and wouldn't give it up. Rob John's goes to left down and takes fiddle out of bag, as fell the grocer, a stout man, with his wife and a little child enter. Squire, this is Mr. Fell, the proprietor of the grocer's shop down by Throne Lane. Fell advancing. I beg pardon. Not a grocer's shop. Stores. Maybe it's a grocer's shop, maybe it's Stores. But if the fells imagine that dropping in late is markets in field manners, they're darn well mistook. Dukes may do it, but not grocers, nor even Stores. Gunion. Well, on the monstrous ceremonies I am. Mr. and Mrs. Fell argue out the subject with Gunion. Up-centre Kate beckons the little child who runs to her. Kate rises and kneels with child-centre. Come here, Toddle. What's your little name? Stores. Gunion places Mrs. Fell on stall up-centre. Fell takes chair from left of bureau and sits beside her. Stores. No, no, no. That's not your name. Crosses to right with child. Felicity places stall beside chair, right-centre of it, and child sits. Felicity behind her. The shabby person, representative of the Pagley Mercury appears, supported on either side by two country-people, men. Squire, I mortally grieve to say this ear is Mercury. He's a little tired. We found him in the parlor of the White Lion. Come on, Drey. Enter Dame, her husband and son, with clarionette. Kate meets Dame. Ah, Dame, glad to see you. Long life to you, Squire. Kate, pointing to chair left. Sit down, Dame. Crowd follow, all bob and curtsy and say. Morning, Squire. How are you, Squire? Group formed, left of stage. Gunion arranging them. Kate sits right. The shabby person is placed upon the couch. The villagers and farm-servants, men, women and children, troop in and cluster in doorway upstage left. At the same time the parson, breaking his way through them, enters and comes to Kate. Kate, with the little child, rises to receive him. A parson? How kind of you. You, you look ill. No, no, not now. Whose child is this? Mr. Fells, the grossest little girl. Bah, the world's full of girls. Nah, then, Joe Parsley, leave go of Jane Brodsley's waist. You don't see me lower in myself, will woman. Squire, the hour of his song. Go on, Drey. A simple, rustic chorus is sung to the accompaniment of Robb's fiddle. What have you got for me, good man? Say, ay, ay, ay. Laces and rings and womanly things upon our harvest day. A woman holding up a baby. What's for your baby boy, good man? Say, ay, ay, ay. Bobbles and milk and a robe of silk upon our harvest day. A woman pointing to the square. What have you got for she, good man? Say, ay, ay, ay. Men, stooping as if to carry a burden. Why, sheaf and stack and a weary back upon our harvest day. Everybody, bread and beef and milk in the can, and wood for the winter fire. Fire, a broken back for the husband bin, and golden corn for the squire. Squire, ah, ah. At end of chorus, a young girl comes from the crowd and presents Kate with a basket of fruit and flowers. Kate kisses her. The girl returns. Squire, verity. It was my desire for to have been took down in my words by Mercury. Mercury, however, is non-composite, as the saying goes. More shame for him. But what I have to tell you is this here, Squire. The men wish you a better harvest next harvest than this harvest. As much ops and more wheat and barley, not to say oats. Hear, hear. The women wish you a good husband who will love you and protect you and put a load of money into the land. And have all the cottages well whitewashed. Hear, hear. And lastly, if the portion will allow me that last word. Lastly, we all wish you may live among us long and happy until you're an octa, an octa, an octagon. I'm sorry, Mercury, can't take me down. Very good. Kate rising with a hand on the little girl's head. Felicity puts stool back and stands by Kate taking her hand and kissing it at end of speech. My dear friends, you are kinder to me than I deserve, which makes me very pained at what I have to tell you. You and I, who have been together for so many years and who have loved one another so much, have to part company. What? Part company? You don't mean to say you're going to put more machinery in the land, Squire? I mean that I am going away from Marcus Sinfield, perhaps never to come back. Oh, what would come of us? A murmur from the women. The lands will be worked by Richard Farmer and you and your homes will be the gainers. Know that they won't. They shake their heads. But what I ask of you is, don't forget me. A sob from one of the women. And to make sure of that, please christen some of your children by my name. Kate is a pretty name and when your babies grow up tell them why they bear it. She kisses the child and sends it back to the group, then sits and cries. Well, and all I got to say is, Squire, we're well nigh aren't broke. Turning to the group. My eye. I'll forego the rinse. Dorma, coming down. Be off, all of you. Don't stand in gate but a woman who's crying. Felicity exits right. Downstage, Mercury assisted off. Felicity places his chair back as before. Dorma goes off through the group. The rest sorrowfully disperse, looking over their shoulders at Kate. As they leave, Gilbert comes through them and is left on the stage. He softly closes the door and crosses to Kate right centre. Squire. Kate, looking up quickly. Oh, Gilbert. She gives him her hand across the table. I've been waiting for a chance of a word with you. Squire, how could have you even to look at me? Don't speak so, Gilbert. What you think of me as I was. Squire, I had the devil in me last night and I would have shot the young lieutenant like a dog in this very room but for... I can't say it. But for what? But for the son of the thoughts that you wear as guilty a woman as he was a man. You didn't know, Gilbert. Thank you, Squire. I didn't know. Advances to her. Looking round to be sure they are alone. Well, Squire, I have seen Mr. Thornback this very morning. Yes? And I'm the bearer of a message from him. A message? What is it, quick? Checking herself. No. It doesn't matter. Don't tell me. Squire, you can't have heard the news. The regimen is going away to a strange country. It's duty and he goes to... Yes, no. Going away soon. Well, Squire, I parted from him less than an hour ago. He grips my hand and says to me, Gilbert, you're the only soul that knows our secret and you're my friend and hers and we trust you. God bless him for that, Squire. And Gilbert, says he, I'm packed off to the Roush Kirk station in India where many a gravestone marks the end of a short life. It's a good country for broken hearts, Gilbert. And Gilbert, says he, I want to wish her a good-bye. She won't refuse me that, Gilbert. She can't refuse me that. Kate goes to fire. Oh, Squire, I've got a man's heart. Though it's rough and all my poor disappointments and troubles are nothing to such a sorrow as this. And I'm here for your answer, Squire. Wait in. I can't see him. I must not see him. I am weak, ill. My answer? No. I won't take it, Squire. My heart goes out to him. I can't bear that answer back. Then tell him that you found me well, cheerful, with a smile among my people. Say it is better as it is that we must learn to forget. Say anything. She sinks helplessly in chair. Oh, Squire. Approaches her. Do as I bid you. Keep him away from me. That's all. Gilbert walks sadly over to left centre, then turns. Nothing more. Nothing more. The door left open, and Christiana enters with eyes on at her heels. Gilbert. The children are crying out for you to tell them your fairy stories and sing your songs to them. I'm coming. As Gilbert is leaving, Kate rises and calls to him. Gilbert. Squire. She lays her hand upon his arm. Gilbert. I... I have thought about it. Tell Mr Thorndike that the poor folks look for a glimpse of him today. That he shouldn't leave England without seeing the last of Verity's farm. Gilbert. Say that we need not meet. Go. Tell him to come to me. Gilbert hurries off. Kate sits on couch left. Christiana stands before her. Isod comes down centre. You're going to turn your back on Market Sinfield, Squire. What's to become of me? Crosses her arms. The poor servant's fortune always faults with the house, Christy. You're young and strong, and better off than your mistress. Christiana uncrosses and uses her arms. Ah, I see. It's the baby face and baby tongue of old Gunion's daughter that pleases you now. And why? Because the child can talk to you of the barracks at Pegley, and the jests they make, and the stories they tell about young Thorndike's lady love. Kate, raising her head. You are an insolent woman. Insolent I might be, but I'm not worse. What do you mean? That your precious love secret is known to my brother and me, that we can spell the name of the man who is the most welcome guest here, in broad daylight when doors are open, and in the dead of night when doors are locked. Kate, rising and seizing Christy's wrist. Christy? Christiana, throwing her off, placing her hands behind her defiantly. Don't you touch me, because I'm your servant no longer. Don't touch me, because you're not fit to lie your hand upon a decent woman. All the ills of the world at one poor woman's door. Sits on sofa. What is it you want? Isod, aside to Christiana. Coin! This. I've got gypsy blood in me, and that means all on none. Will you promise to turn Old Gunion's child away, never to have her near you again? If I refuse, what will you do? Tell the parson that there's a lady in Market Sinfield who needs as much praying for as she can get from him on Sundays. Tell him what Isod saw last night, and what I heard. Give him a new text to preach to the poor folks who call you their saint. You'll do this. Rises. Then I promise to be a friend to little Felicity as long as she loves me and clings to me. Say the worst you can. Isod goes up towards left downstage and remains. Christiana makes a movement as if going. Kate stops her. Christiana. Christiana stands before Kate with her hands behind her back. I'll give you this thought to help you. I stand here, the last of my name, in our old house, wretched and in trouble. I'm not the first verity that has come to grief, but I shall be the first at whose name there's a hush and a whisper. And this will be to your credit, to the credit of one who has fared and slept under my roof and who has touched my lips with hers. She comes to Christiana and lays a hand upon her shoulder. Christiana. If you ever marry and have children that cry to be lulled to sleep, don't sing this story to them, lest they should raise their little hands against their mother. Remember that. Sits again. Eric thawndike enters quickly door left and stands facing Kate. Christiana and Isod look at each other significantly. There is a pause. Christy backs a little so that Eric passes in front of her. Isod passes behind and gets on steps. Christiana with a curtsy to Eric. Yourself and left in it. You haven't forgotten the harvest feast, sir. He makes no answer. Christiana and Isod cross quietly to door left. Christiana in Isod's ear. Come to the person now. They go out. Kate and Eric are alone. They look at each other. Thank you for seeing me. You ought to hate me for it. I should have delayed this till you were stronger, but I was in dread that you would go without a word. I'll leave Market Sinfield to-morrow. I should not have said good-bye to you. You look tired and worn out. Eric advances to sit beside her. She checks him and points to Stool Centre. Sit down there. He sits wearily. Has your mother written? Eric with a short, bitter laugh produces a letter from his pocket-book. Ha ha ha! Oh yes, here is my conjet. The gates of the pack-mores are shut and locked. Stibbs the Butler has orders to clear out everything that spells the name of Eric. Poor mother. That needn't be now. You must tell her we have quarrelled, that I have jilted you or you me, anything for home. Eric rises. Home, Kate. Home. That's all over. Come Stine Centre. Hush, hush. I've been with Sylvester, our lawyer, this morning. He is going to raise money on the reversion of my aunt Tillcoat's little place, which must come to me. It is the Mirror's trifle, but it is something, and I've written to the agents in town about setting aside half my pay. Kate, looking up. What is the meaning of that? For you, Kate. I've no thought but for you, dear, and the little heart which is to beat against yours. Kate, starts up. Rises. Oh, Eric, unless you wish to make me mad, you mustn't be kind to me. I can't bear it. Advancing centre firmly. Why, Eric, do you think I'd let you pinch and struggle for me? They meet centre. Why, Kate, you wouldn't live in a fashion that doesn't become my wife. He stops short. They look at each other, then turn away. Kate sits again on sofa, under her breath. Oh, Eric, what made you say that? I slipped from me. I didn't mean to say it. Oh, it comes so naturally. Goes up to left of left window. It doesn't matter. It's all through wrangling about miserable money. Goes to right of left window. The lights are getting duller. The faint glow of the setting sun is seen outside the windows. Look, there's the sun going down. We mustn't stay here longer. She comes closer to him, looking up into his face. They stand with their hands behind them. There's time only for one last word. I'm listening. It's this. You may, of course, write to me. To the post office at bail for the present. Not to make it a tax upon you, but when you've nothing better or more cheerful to do, write to me, then. Oh, Kate. He moves Dan right towards her. She goes back a pace to avoid him. Kate leans against chair. No, no, I'm not going to cry. Smiling. A man is always so frightened that a woman is going to cry. And Eric, promise me, dear, never to gamble nor bet. Only very little. Will you promise? Yes. I promise. Don't listen to stories at the mess table about officer's wives. Don't sit up too late. Don't drink too much wine. There's no chance of that. Oh, dear, you haven't been in trouble till now. And lastly, always go to church and be a good fellow. Which means, Kate, try to do everything I should have done in the happy life we might have lived together. Sits. Eric on City. Kate Center. Yes, that's what I mean. And when you find yourself getting very miserable, which means getting very weak, I want you to say to yourself, Eric, old fellow, pull up. You've got a true love somewhere. You don't know where she is, but you'd better do everything she bids you, for she's a perfect tyrant. She breaks down and stands center. Eric puts hat on chair. That's your last word, Kate. This is mine. Music. When I get away from Indy on leave, I shan't know where to bend my steps, unless it's to the country that holds my girl. No, no. Oh, listen. He holds out his right hand and traces upon it, as if it were a map with his left. Suppose my hand's a map, and there are lines enough on it, and that you're dwelling in some pretty foreign place, say here. Well, then, when you're here, I could while away the time there. And if you worry of that one spot and run off to there, I could pack up my bag and smoke my cigar here. You see, darling, never too near you where I've no right, but always about thirty or forty miles away, so that in the twilight's which are long and saddening in foreign places, you might sit and say to yourself, I don't want to meet Eric face to face, because he'd remind me of old times and old troubles, but he's not more than forty miles away, and he's thinking of his dear love at this very moment. Music changes. Kate, drawing her hand across her eyes. He mustn't speak to me any more. Eric takes his hat. Goodbye. Looking in her face, trying to smile. Why, I do believe I shall begin writing you my Indian budget this very evening. Kate, struggling with her tears. It doesn't matter how long the letter is. Goodbye. She holds out her hand. He walks down slowly and takes her hand. There is a pause. You are going away. I can't help it. Music ceases. She lays her head quietly upon his breast. He folds his arms around her. As they part, Dorma enters door left with a stern face. Mr. Dormer. We meet, as we have met before, sir, in hot blood. Mr. Thorndike, you have no secret that is not shared by me, and yet you are here, sir, for shame. Let me remind you, Mr. Dormer, that one of the few advantages of being neither a popper nor a felon is freedom of action. Mr. Thorndike, I am without the smooth tongue of my class. I find you in a woman's house, where you are a guest by night as well as by day. I bid you be gone. You are a soldier lacking chivalry. A man who makes war upon weakness. You are a coward. A coward, Mr. Dormer, is one who, under the cover of his age and profession, uses language for which a younger and a braver man would be chastised. Goes upstage towards fireplace. Kate crosses to Dorma. Person, you don't guess the truth. If you knew... I'll know no more. Ms. Verity, I am the pastor of a flock of poor, simple people who regard your words as precepts and your actions as examples. I will spare you the loss of their good will, but I demand, so long as you remain in this parish, that Mr. Thorndike be excluded from your house. Oh, sir, I can relieve your mind on that point. A moment later you would have found me gone. Goodbye, Ms. Verity. I shall inform you of my arrival abroad, if you will let me. Kate takes his hand and looks firmly at Dorma. Stop. Person, Dorma, this house is mine while my heart beats, for good or for evil. Neither you nor your bishop could shut my doors upon the man I love. That is your answer. And to think that yesterday your voice had a charm and a melody for me. It serves me rightly for forgetting my old lesson. What a fool. What a fool. He goes deliberately to Bellrope left and pulls it. What are you going to do? My duty. What is that? To open the eyes of these blind people. Open their eyes to what? Your guilt. Ah! Eric gives an indignant cry. Kate goes to Dorma. Guilt. It's not true. Person, I am unhappy, with a life wasted, with hope crushed out of me, but not guilty yet. I am this man's wife in the sight of heaven, married a year ago at God's altar, prayed over, and blessed by a priest of your church. To be divorced by the cruel snare which made you its mouthpiece. Person, I am desperate and weak, but not guilty yet. Kate, Kate, look in my eyes. Is this the truth? Kate clinging to Eric. As true as at this moment for the first time in my life, I am in danger. Eric leads her to chair right. She sits. The village crowd headed by Christiana, Isod, Gunnian, and Felicity appear at door left. Christiana triumphant. Dorma faces the crowd. Friend, Margaret Sinfield people. Laying his hand on Chris's arm. You've been told by this good creature here, that I have a few words to speak to you. Very well, this is my text. Beware of tale-bearers. They destroy the simplicity of such natures as yours. They feed the bitterness of such a nature as mine. I entreat you, firstly, to believe nothing ill against those you hate, and you'll grow to love them. Secondly, to believe nothing ill against those you love, and you'll love them doubly. Lastly, whatever you think, whatever you do to pity this poor lady. Pointing to Kate. Who is in some trouble at leaving the place where she was born. Go! Christiana snatches her arm from Dorma with a bitter look. The crowd makes a movement to go when Gilbert forces his way through and comes to Dorma, left of him. Gilbert aside to Dorma. Parson, you're wanted up yonder. What is it? Gilbert whispers a few words in Dorma's ear and falls back. Dorma raises his hand to stop the crowd. Before you go, I'll tell you why the squire leaves Market Sinfield. Kate rises and goes up behind table. To Dorma. Parson, no. She is going to be the wife of that young man there, our neighbor Thorndike. What? Married! Married! She is going to be married to him in your presence, in my church, and by me, before another Sunday passes. A cry from the crowd. But neighbor Thorndike is off to India for some years with his good wife, on duty to his queen, and that's why you lose your squire. Men and women, on your knees tonight. Say God bless quiet Kate and her husband, and bring them back to us, to Market Sinfield. Hurrah! Hurrah! Kate grasping Dorma's arm, aside to him. Parson, the woman at the White Lion. Hush! To Eric. Mr. Thorndike, you're a free man, sir. Your wife is dead. Music. As the curtain falls, Kate kneels. Dorma puts his hand on her head. End of Act Three. End of The Squire by Arthur Wing Pinero.