The Master of Mrs. Chilvers: An Improbable Comedy. Jerome Klapka Jerome

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      THE FIRST ACT

      Scene: —Drawing-room, 91, Russell Square.

      (Mrs. Elizabeth Spender sits near the fire, reading a book. She is a tall, thin woman, with passionate eyes, set in an oval face of olive complexion; the features are regular and severe; her massive dark hair is almost primly arranged. She wears a tailor-made costume, surmounted by a plain black hat. The door opens and Phoebe enters, shown in by Hake, the butler, a thin, ascetic-looking man of about thirty, with prematurely grey hair. Phoebe Mogton is of the Fluffy Ruffles type, petite, with a retroussé nose, remarkably bright eyes, and a quantity of fluffy light hair, somewhat untidily arranged. She is fashionably dressed in the fussy, flyaway style. Elizabeth looks up; the two young women shake hands.)

      Phoebe. Good woman. ’Tisn’t three o’clock yet, is it?

      Elizabeth. About five minutes to.

      Phoebe. Annys is on her way. I just caught her in time. (To Hake.) Put a table and six chairs. Give mamma a hammer and a cushion at her back.

      Hake. A hammer, miss?

      Phoebe. A chairman’s hammer. Haven’t you got one?

      Hake. I’m afraid not, miss. Would a gravy spoon do?

      Phoebe (To Elizabeth, after expression of disgust.) Fancy a house without a chairman’s hammer! (To Hake.) See that there’s something. Did your wife go to the meeting last night?

      Hake (He is arranging furniture according to instructions.) I’m not quite sure, miss. I gave her the evening out.

      Phoebe. “Gave her the evening out”!

      Elizabeth. We are speaking of your wife, man, not your servant.

      Hake. Yes, miss. You see, we don’t keep servants in our class. Somebody’s got to put the children to bed.

      Elizabeth. Why not the man – occasionally?

      Hake. Well, you see, miss, in my case, I rarely getting home much before midnight, it would make it so late. Yesterday being my night off, things fitted in, so to speak. Will there be any writing, miss?

      Phoebe. Yes. See that there’s plenty of blotting-paper. (To Elizabeth.) Mamma always splashes so.

      Hake. Yes, miss.

      Elizabeth. Did you ever hear anything more delightfully naïve? He “gave” her the evening out. That’s how they think of us – as their servants. The gentleman hasn’t the courage to be straightforward about it. The butler blurts out the truth. Why are we meeting here instead of at our own place?

      Phoebe. For secrecy, I expect. Too many gasbags always about the office. I fancy – I’m not quite sure – that mamma’s got a new idea.

      Elizabeth. Leading to Holloway?

      Phoebe. Well, most roads lead there.

      Elizabeth. And end there – so far as I can see.

      Phoebe. You’re too impatient.

      Elizabeth. It’s what our friends have been telling us – for the last fifty years.

      Phoebe. Look here, if it was only the usual sort of thing mamma wouldn’t want it kept secret. I’m inclined to think it’s a new departure altogether.

      Janet. It was only a shower. The ’buses were all full. I had to ride outside.

      Phoebe. Silly kid, why didn’t you take a cab?

      Janet. I’ve been reckoning it up. I’ve been half over London chasing Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers. Cabs would have come, at the very least, to twelve-and-six.

      Phoebe. Well —

      Janet (To Elizabeth.) Well – I want you to put me down as a contributor for twelve-and-six. (She smiles.) It’s the only way I can give.

      Phoebe. (She is taking off Janet’s cloak; throws it to Hake.) Have this put somewhere to dry. (She pushes Janet to the fire.) Get near the fire. You’re as cold as ice.

      Elizabeth. All the seats inside, I suppose, occupied by the chivalrous sex.

      Janet. Oh, there was one young fellow offered to give me up his place, but I wouldn’t let him. You see, we’re claiming equality. (Smiles.)

      Elizabeth. And are being granted it – in every direction where it works to the convenience of man.

      Phoebe. (Laughs.) Is she coming – the Villiers woman?

      Janet. Yes. I ran her down at last – at her dress-maker’s. She made an awful fuss about it, but I wouldn’t leave till she’d promised. Tell me, it’s something quite important, isn’t it?

      Phoebe. I don’t know anything, except that I had an urgent telegram from mamma this morning to call a meeting of the entire Council here at three o’clock. She’s coming up from Manchester on purpose. (To Hake.) Mrs. Chilvers hasn’t returned yet, has she?

      Hake. Not yet, miss. Shall I telephone —

      Phoebe. (Shakes her head.) No; it’s all right. I have seen her. Let her know we are here the moment she comes in.

      Hake. Yes, miss.

      Phoebe. Why aren’t you sure your wife wasn’t at the meeting last night? Didn’t she say anything?

      Hake. Well, miss, unfortunately, just as she was starting, Mrs. Comerford – that’s the wife of the party that keeps the shop downstairs – looked in with an order for the theatre.

      Phoebe. Oh!

      Hake. So I thought it best to ask no questions.

      Phoebe. Thank you.

      Hake. Thank you, miss.

      Elizabeth. Can nothing be done to rouse the working-class woman out of her apathy?

      Phoebe. Well, if you ask me, СКАЧАТЬ