Books: Night Must Fall

W >> Williams, Emlyn >> Night Must Fall

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

BELSIZE: Sugar?... As a matter of fact, you might be useful. Any of you
may be useful. Mind my pipe?

_MRS. BRAMSON blows in disgust and waves her hand before her
face._

MRS. BRAMSON: Is it about my maid having an illegitimate child?

BELSIZE: I beg your pardon?... Oh no! That sort of thing's hardly in my
line, thank God ... Lonely spot ... (_To MRS. TERENCE_) Long way
for you to walk every day, isn't it?

MRS. TERENCE: I don't walk. I cycle.

BELSIZE: Oh.

MRS. BRAMSON: What's the matter?

BELSIZE: I just thought if she walked she might use some of the paths,
and have seen--something.

(Note: The following pair of lines are spoken simultaneously.)

MRS. BRAMSON: Something of what?

MRS. TERENCE: Something?

BELSIZE: I'll tell you. I--

_A piano is heard in the sun-room, playing the "Merry Widow" waltz.

(Casually_) Other people in the house?

MRS. BRAMSON (_calling shrilly_): Mr. Laurie!

_The piano stops._

HUBERT'S VOICE (_as the piano stops, in the sun-room_): Yes?

MRS. BRAMSON (_to OLIVIA, sourly_): Did you ask him to play the
piano?

_HUBERT comes back from the sun-room._

HUBERT (_breezily_): Hello, house on fire or something?

MRS. BRAMSON: Very nearly. This is Mr.--er--Bel--

BELSIZE: Belsize.

MRS. BRAMSON (_drily_): Of Scotland Yard.

HUBERT: Oh.... (_Apprehensive_) It isn't about my car, is it?

BELSIZE: No.

HUBERT: Oh. (_Shaking hands affably_) How do you do?

BELSIZE: How do you do, sir....

MRS. BRAMSON: He's a friend of Miss Grayne's here. Keeps calling.

BELSIZE: Been calling long?

MRS. BRAMSON: Every day for two weeks. Just before lunch.

HUBERT: Well--

OLIVIA (_sitting on the sofa_): Perhaps I'd better introduce
myself. I'm Olivia Grayne, Mrs. Bramson's niece. I work for her.

BELSIZE: Oh, I see. Thanks. Well now ...

HUBERT (_sitting at the table, effusively_): I know a chap on the
Stock Exchange who was taken last year and shown over the Black Museum
at Scotland Yard.

BELSIZE (_politely_): Really--

MRS. BRAMSON: And what d'you expect the policeman to do about it?

HUBERT: Well, it was very interesting, he said. Bit ghoulish, of
course--

BELSIZE: I expect so.... (_Getting down to business_) Now I wonder
if any of you've seen anything in the least out of the ordinary round
here lately? Anybody called--anybody strange wandering about in the
woods--overheard anything?

_They look at one another._

MRS. BRAMSON: The only visitor's been the doctor--and the district
nurse.

MRS. TERENCE: Been ever so gay.

HUBERT: As a matter of fact, funny thing did happen to me. Tuesday
afternoon it was, I remember now.

BELSIZE: Oh?

HUBERT (_graphically_): I was walking back to my cottage from
golf, and I heard something moving stealthily behind a tree, or a bush,
or something.

BELSIZE (_interested_): Oh, yes?

HUBERT: Turned out to be a squirrel.

MRS. BRAMSON (_in disgust_): Oh!...

HUBERT: No bigger than my hand! Funny thing to happen, I thought.

BELSIZE: Very funny. Anything else?

HUBERT: Not a thing. By Jove, fancy walking in the woods and stumbling
over a dead body! Most embarrassing!

MRS. TERENCE: I've stumbled over bodies in them woods afore now. But
they wasn't dead. Oh, no.

MRS. BRAMSON: Say what you know, and don't talk so much.

MRS. TERENCE: Well, I've told 'im all I've seen. A bit o' love now and
again. Though 'ow they make do with all them pine-needles beats me.

BELSIZE: Anything else?

MRS. BRAMSON: Miss Grayne's always moping round the woods. Perhaps
_she_ can tell you something.

OLIVIA: I haven't seen anything, I'm afraid.... Oh--I saw some men
beating the undergrowth--

BELSIZE: Yes, I'm coming to that. But no tramps, for instance?

OLIVIA: N-no, I don't think so.

HUBERT: "Always carry a stick's" my motto. I'd like to see a tramp try
anything on with me. Ah-ha! Swish!

MRS. BRAMSON: What's all the fuss about? Has there been a robbery or
something?

BELSIZE: There's a lady missing.

MRS. TERENCE: Where from?

BELSIZE: The Tallboys.

MRS. BRAMSON: That Tallboys again--

BELSIZE: A Mrs. Chalfont.

MRS. TERENCE: Chalfont? Oh, yes! Dyed platinum blonde--widow of a
colonel, so she says, livin' alone, so she says, always wearin' them
faldalaldy openwork stockings. Fond of a drop too. That's 'er.

HUBERT: Why, d'you know her?

MRS. TERENCE: Never set eyes on 'er. But you know how people talk.
Partial to that there, too, I'm told.

MRS. BRAMSON: What's that there?

MRS. TERENCE: Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies.

BELSIZE (_quickly_): Well, anyway ... Mrs. Chalfont left the
Tallboys last Friday afternoon, without a hat, went for a walk through
the woods in this direction, and has never been seen since.

_He makes his effect_.

MRS. BRAMSON: I expect she was so drunk she fell flat and never came
to.

BELSIZE: We've had the woods pretty well thrashed. (_To OLIVIA_)
Those would be the men you saw. Now she was ... HUBERT (_taking the
floor_): She may have had a brain-storm, you know, and taken a train
somewhere. That's not uncommon, you know, among people of her sort.
(_Airing knowledge_) And if what we gather from our friend here's
true--and she's both a dipsomaniac _and_ a nymphomaniac--

MRS. BRAMSON: Hark at the walking dictionary!

BELSIZE: We found her bag in her room; and maniacs can't get far
without cash ... however dipso or nympho they may be....

HUBERT: Oh.

BELSIZE: She was a very flashy type of wo--she _is_ a flashy type,
I should say. At least I hope I should say ...

MRS. BRAMSON: What d'you mean? Why d'you hope?

BELSIZE: Well ...

OLIVIA: You don't mean she may be ... she mayn't be alive?

BELSIZE: It's possible.

MRS. BRAMSON: You'll be saying she's been murdered next!

BELSIZE: That's been known.

MRS. BRAMSON: Lot of stuff and nonsense. From a policeman too.
Anybody'd think you'd been brought up on penny dreadfuls.

OLIVIA _turns and goes to the window._

BELSIZE (_to_ MRS. BRAMSON): Did you see about the fellow being
hanged for the Ipswich murder? In last night's papers?

MRS. BRAMSON: I've lived long enough not to believe the papers.

BELSIZE: They occasionally print facts. And murder's occasionally a
fact.

HUBERT: Everybody likes a good murder, as the saying goes! Remember
those trials in the _Evening Standard_ last year? Jolly interesting.
I followed--

BELSIZE (_rising_): I'd be very grateful if you'd all keep your
eyes and ears open, just in case ... (_Shaking hands_) Good
morning ... good morning ... good morning, Mrs. Bramson. I must
apologise again for intruding--

_He turns to_ OLIVIA, _who is still looking out of the
window._

Good morning, Miss ... er ...

_A pause._

OLIVIA (_starting_): I'm so sorry.

BELSIZE: Had you remembered something? OLIVIA: Oh, no....

MRS. BRAMSON: What were you thinking, then?

OLIVIA: Only how ... strange it is.

BELSIZE: What?

OLIVIA: Well, here we all are, perfectly ordinary English people. We
woke up ... no, it's silly.

MRS. BRAMSON: Of course it's silly.

BELSIZE (_giving_ MRS. BRAMSON _an impatient look_): No, go
on. OLIVIA: Well, we woke up this morning, thinking, "Here's another
day." We got up, looked at the weather, and talked; and here we all
are, still talking.... And all that time----

MRS. BRAMSON: My dear girl, who are you to expect a policeman----

BELSIZE (_quelling her sternly_): If you please! I want to hear
what she's got to say. (_To_ OLIVIA) Well?

OLIVIA: All that time ... there may be something ... lying in the
woods. Hidden under a bush, with two feet just showing. Perhaps one
high heel catching the sunlight, with a bird perched on the end of it;
and the other--a stockinged foot, with blood ... that's dried into the
openwork stocking. And there's a man walking about somewhere, and
talking, like us; and he woke up this morning, and looked at the
weather. ... And he killed her.... (_Smiling, looking out of the
window_) The cat doesn't believe a word of it, anyhow. It's just
walking away.

MRS. BRAMSON: Well!

MRS. TERENCE: Ooh, Miss Grayne, you give me the creeps! I'm glad it is
morning, that's all I can say....

BELSIZE: I don't think the lady can quite describe _herself_ as
ordinary, after that little flight of fancy!

MRS. BRAMSON: Oh, that's nothing; she writes poetry. Jingle jingle--

BELSIZE: I can only hope she's wrong, or it'll mean a nice job of work
for us! ... Well, if anything funny happens, nip along to Shepperley
police station. Pity you're not on the 'phone. Good morning.... Good
morning....

MRS. TERENCE: This way....

_She follows_ BELSIZE _into the hall_.

BELSIZE: No, don't bother.... Good morning.

_He goes out._ MRS. TERENCE _shuts the door after him_.

MRS. BRAMSON (_to_ HUBERT): What are _you_ staring at?

HUBERT (_crossing to the fireplace_): Funny, I can't get out of my
mind what Olivia said about the man being somewhere who's done it.

MRS. TERENCE (_coming into the room_): Why, Mr. Laurie, it might
be you! After all, there's nothing in your face that _proves_ it
isn't!

HUBERT: Oh, come, come! You're being a bit hard on the old countenance,
aren't you?

MRS. TERENCE: Well, 'e's not going to walk about with bloodshot eyes
and a snarl all over his face, is he?

_She goes into the kitchen._

HUBERT: That's true enough.

MRS. BRAMSON: Missing woman indeed! She's more likely than not at this
very moment sitting in some saloon bar. Or the films, I shouldn't
wonder. (_To_ OLIVIA) pass me my wool, will you....

OLIVIA _crosses to the desk. A knock at the kitchen door_: DORA
_appears, cautiously._

DORA: _Was_ it about me?

OLIVIA: Of course it wasn't.

DORA (_relieved_): Oh.... Please, mum, 'e's 'ere.

MRS. BRAMSON: Who?

DORA: My boy fr--my gentleman friend, ma'am, from the Tallboys.

MRS. BRAMSON: I'm ready for him. (_Waving aside the wool which_
OLIVIA _brings to her_) The sooner he's made to realise what his
duty _is_, the better. _I_'ll give him baby-face!

DORA: Thank you, ma'am.

_She goes out through the front door._

HUBERT: What gentleman? What duty?

OLIVIA: The maid's going to have a baby. (_She crosses and puts the
wool in the cupboard of the desk._)

HUBERT: Is she, by Jove!... Don't look at me like that, Mrs. Bramson!
I've only been in the county two weeks.... But is _he_ from the
Tallboys?

MRS. BRAMSON: A page-boy or something of the sort.

DORA _comes back to the front door, looks back, and beckons. She is
followed by_ DAN, _who saunters past her into the room. He is a
young fellow wearing a blue pill-box hat, uniform trousers, a jacket
too small for him, and bicycle-clips: the stub of a cigarette dangles
between his lips. He speaks with a rough accent, indeterminate, but
more Welsh than anything else.

His personality varies very considerably as the play proceeds: the
impression he gives at the moment is one of totally disarming good
humour and childlike unself-consciousness. It would need a very close
observer to suspect that there is something wrong somewhere--that this
personality is completely assumed._ DORA _shuts the front door and
comes to the back of the sofa._

MRS. BRAMSON (_sternly_): Well?

DAN (_saluting_): Mornin', all!

MRS. BRAMSON: So you're Baby-face?

DAN: That's me. (_Grinning._) Silly name, isn't it? (_After a
pause._) I must apologise to all and sundry for this fancy dress,
but it's my working togs. I been on duty this mornin', and my hands
isn't very clean. You see, I didn't know as it was going to be a party.

MRS. BRAMSON: Party?

DAN (_looking at_ OLIVIA): Well, it's ladies, isn't it?

HUBERT: Are you shy with ladies?

DAN (_smiling at_ OLIVIA): Oh, yes.

OLIVIA _moves away coldly._ DAN _turns to_ MRS. BRAMSON.

MRS. BRAMSON (_cutting_): You smoke, I see.

DAN: Yes. (_Taking the stub out of his mouth with alacrity and taking
off his hat_) Oh, I'm sorry. I always forget my manners with a
cigarette when I'm in company.... (_Pushing the stub behind his ear,
as_ OLIVIA _crosses to the armchair_) I always been clumsy in
people's houses. I am sorry.

MRS. BRAMSON: You know my maid, Dora Parkoe, I believe?

DAN: Well, we have met, yes ... (_with a grin at_ DORA).

MRS. BRAMSON (_to_ DORA): Go away!

DORA _creeps back into the kitchen_.

You walked out with her last August Bank Holiday?

DAN: Yes.... Excuse me smiling, but it sounds funny when you put it
like that, doesn't it?

MRS. BRAMSON: You ought to be ashamed of yourself.

DAN (_soberly_): Oh, I am.

MRS. BRAMSON: How did it happen?

DAN (_embarrassed_): Well ... we went ... did _you_ have a
nice bank holiday?

MRS. BRAMSON: Answer my question!

HUBERT: Were you in love with the wench?

DAN: Oh, yes!

MRS. BRAMSON (_triumphantly_): When did you first meet her?

DAN: Er--bank holiday morning.

MRS. BRAMSON: Picked her up, I suppose?

DAN: Oh, no, I didn't pick her up! I asked her for a match, and then I
took her for a bit of a walk, to take her mind off her work--

HUBERT: You seem to have succeeded.

DAN (_smiling at him, then catching_ MRS. BRAMSON's _eye_):
I've thought about it a good bit since, I can tell you. Though it's a
bit awkward talking about it in front of strangers; though you all look
very nice people; but it is a _bit_ awkward--

HUBERT: I should jolly well think it is awkward for a chap! Though of
course, never having been in the same jam myself--

MRS. BRAMSON: I haven't finished with him yet.

HUBERT: In that case I'm going for my stroll ...

_He makes for the door to the hall._

OLIVIA: You work at the Tallboys, don't you?

DAN: Yes, miss. (_Grinning_) Twenty-four hours a day, miss.

HUBERT (_coming to_ DAN'S _left_): Then perhaps you can tell
us something about the female who's been murdered?--

_An unaccountable pause_. DAN _looks slowly from_ OLIVIA
_to_ HUBERT, _and back again_.

Well, can you tell us? You know there was a Mrs. Chalfont staying at
the Tallboys who went off one day?

DAN: Yes.

HUBERT: And nobody's seen her since?

DAN: I know.

MRS. BRAMSON: What's she like?

DAN (_to_ MRS. BRAMSON): But I thought you said--or somebody
said--something about--a murder?

HUBERT: Oh, we don't_know_, of course, but there _might_ have
been, mightn't there?

DAN (_suddenly effusive_): Yes, there might have been, yes!

HUBERT: Ever seen her?

DAN: Oh, yes. I used to take cigarettes an' drinks for her.

MRS. BRAMSON (_impatiently_): What's she _like_?

DAN: What's she like?... (_To_ MRS. BRAMSON)--She's ... on the
tall side. Thin ankles, with one o' them bracelets on one of 'em.
(_Looking at_ OLIVIA) Fair hair--

_A sudden thought seems to arrest him. He goes on looking at_
OLIVIA.

MRS. BRAMSON: Well? Go on!

DAN (_after a pause, in a level voice_): Thin eyebrows, with white
marks, where they was pulled out ... to be in the fashion, you know....
Her mouth ... a bit thin as well, with red stuff painted round it, to
make it look more; you can rub it off ... I suppose. Her neck ...
rather thick. Laughs a bit loud; and then it stops. (_After a
pause_) She's ... very lively. (_With a quick smile that dispels
the atmosphere he has unaccountably created_) You can't say I don't
keep my eyes skinned, can you?

HUBERT: I should say you do! A living portrait, if ever there was one,
what? Now--

MRS. BRAMSON (_pointedly_): Weren't you going for a walk?

HUBERT: So I was, by Jove! Well, I'll charge off. Bye-bye.

_He goes out of the front door_.

OLIVIA (_her manner faintly hostile_): You're very observant.

DAN: Well, the ladies, you know ...

MRS. BRAMSON: If he weren't so observant, that Dora mightn't be in the
flummox she is now.

DAN (_cheerfully_): That's true, ma'am.

OLIVIA (_rising_): You don't sound very repentant.

DAN (_as she crosses, stiffly_): Well, what's done's done's my
motto, isn't it?

_She goes into the sun-room. He makes a grimace after her and holds
his left hand out, the thumb pointing downwards_.

MRS. BRAMSON: And what does that mean?

DAN: She's a nice bit of ice for next summer, isn't she?

MRS. BRAMSON: You're a proper one to talk about next summer, when Dora
there'll be up hill and down dale with a perambulator. Now look here,
young man, immorality--

MRS. TERENCE _comes in from the kitchen_.

MRS. TERENCE: The butcher wants paying. And 'e says there's men
ferreting at the bottom of the garden looking for that Mrs. Chalfont
and do you know about it.

MRS. BRAMSON (_furious_): Well, they won't ferret long, not among
my pampas grass!... (_Calling_) Olivia!... Oh, that girl's never
there. (_Wheeling herself furiously towards the kitchen as_ MRS.
TERENCE _makes a move to help her_) Leave me alone. I don't want
to be pushed into the nettles to-day, thank you ... (_Shouting loudly
as she disappears into the kitchen_) Come out of my garden, you!
Come out!

MRS. TERENCE (_looking towards the kitchen as_ DAN _takes the
stub from behind his ear and lights it_): Won't let me pay the
butcher, so I won't know where she keeps 'er purse; but I do know, so
put that in your pipe and smoke it!

DAN (_going to her and jabbing her playfully in the arm_): They
say down at the Tallboys she's got enough inside of 'er purse, too.
MRS. TERENCE: Well, nobody's seen it open. If you 'ave a peep inside,
young fellow, you'll go down in 'istory, that's what you'll do ...
(_Dan salutes her. She sniffs_) Something's boiling over.

_She rushes back into the kitchen as_ OLIVIA _comes back from
the sun-room_.

OLIVIA: Did Mrs. Bramson call me, do you know?

_A pause. He surveys her from under drooping lids, rolling his
cigarette on his lower lip_.

DAN: I'm sorry, I don't know your name.

OLIVIA: Oh....

_She senses his insolence, goes self-consciously to the desk and
takes out the wool_.

DAN: Not much doin' round here for a girl, is there?

_No answer_.

It is not a very entertaining quarter of the world for a young lady, is
it?

_He gives it up as a bad job_. DORA _comes in from the
kitchen_.

DORA (_eagerly_): What did she ... (_confused, seeing_
OLIVIA) Oh, beg pardon, miss....

_She hurries back into the kitchen_. DAN _jerks head after her
with a laugh and looks at_ OLIVIA.

OLIVIA (_arranging wool at the table_): I'm not a snob, but, in
case you ever call here again, I'd like to point out that though I'm
employed by my aunt, I'm not quite in Dora's position.

DAN: Oh, I hope not ... (_She turns away, confused. He moves to
her._) Though I'll be putting it all right for Dora. I'm going to
marry her. And--

OLIVIA (_coldly_): I don't believe you.

DAN (_after a pause_): You don't like me, do you?

OLIVIA: No.

DAN (_with a smile_): Well, everybody else does!

OLIVIA (_absorbed in her wool-sorting_): Your eyes are set quite
wide apart, your hands are quite good ... I don't really know what's
wrong with you.

DAN _looks at his outspread hands. A pause. He breaks it, and goes
nearer to her_.

DAN (_persuasively_): You know, I've been looking at you too.
You're lonely, aren't you? I could see--

OLIVIA: I'm sorry, it's a waste of time doing your stuff with me. I'm
not the type. (_Crossing to the desk and turning suddenly to him_)
Are you playing up to Mrs. Bramson?

DAN: Playin' up?

OLIVIA: It crossed my mind for a minute. You stand a pretty poor chance
there, you know.

DAN (_after a pause, smiling_): What d'you bet me?

OLIVIA _turns from him, annoyed, and puts the wool away_.

MRS. BRAMSON _careers in from the kitchen in her chair_.

MRS. BRAMSON: They say they've got permits to look for that silly
woman--who are _they_, I'd like to know? If there's anything I
hate, it's these men who think they've got authority.

OLIVIA: I don't think they're quite as bad as men who think they've got
charm.

_She goes back into the sun-room_. DAN _whistles_.

MRS. BRAMSON: What did she mean by that?

DAN: Well, it's no good her thinkin' _she's_ got any, is it?

MRS. BRAMSON (_sternly_). Now, young man, what about Dora? I--

DAN: Wait a minute ... (_Putting his hat on the table and going to
her_) Are you sure you're comfortable like that? Don't you think,
Mrs. Bramson, you ought to be facin' ... a wee bit more this side,
towards the sun more, eh? (_He moves her chair round till she is in
the centre of the room, facing the sun-room_) You're looking pale,
you know. (_As she stares at him, putting the stub in an ashtray on
the table_) I am sorry. Excuse rudeness ... Another thing, Mrs.
Bramson--you don't mind me sayin' it, do you?--but you ought to have a
rug, you know. This October weather's very treacherous.

MRS. BRAMSON (_blinking_): Pale? Did you say pale?

DAN: Washed out. (_His wiles fully turned on, but not overdone in the
slightest_) The minute I saw you just now, I said to myself, now
there's a lady that's got a lot to contend with.

MRS. BRAMSON: Oh ... Well, I have. Nobody knows it better than me.

DAN: No, I'm sure ... Oh, it must be terrible to watch everybody else
striding up and down enjoying everything, and to see everybody tasting
the fruit--

_As she looks at him, appreciation of what he is saying grows visibly
in her face_.

I'm sorry ... (_Diffidently_) I didn't ha' ought to say that.

MRS. BRAMSON: But it's true! As true as you are my witness, and nobody
else--(_Pulling herself together_) Now look here, about that girl--

DAN: Excuse me a minute.... (_Examining her throat, like a
doctor_) Would you mind sayin' something?

MRS. BRAMSON (_taken aback_): What d'you want me to say?

DAN: Yes ...

MRS. BRAMSON: Yes. What?

DAN: There's a funny twitching in your neck when you talk--very slight,
of course--nerves, I expect--But I hope your doctor knows all about it
... D'you mind if I ask what your ailments are?

MRS. BRAMSON: ... Hadn't you better sit down?

DAN (_sitting_): Thank you.

MRS. BRAMSON: Well, I have the most terrible palpitations. I--

DAN: Palpitations! (_Whistling_.) But the way you get about!

MRS. BRAMSON: Oh?

DAN: It's a pretty bad thing to have, you know. D'you know that nine
women out of ten in your position'd be just sittin' down givin' way?

MRS. BRAMSON: Would they?

DAN: Yes, they would! I do know, as a matter of fact. I've known
people with palpitations. Somebody very close to me ... (_After a
pause, soberly_) They're dead now ...

MRS. BRAMSON (_startled_): Oh!

DAN: My mother, as a matter of fact ...

_With finely controlled emotion, practically indistinguishable from
the real thing_.

I can just remember her.

MRS. BRAMSON: Oh?

DAN: She died when I was six. I know that, because my dad died two
years before that.

MRS. BRAMSON (_vaguely_): Oh.

DAN (_studying her_): As a matter o' fact--

MRS. BRAMSON: Yes?

DAN: Oh, no, it's a daft thing--

MRS. BRAMSON (_the old tart note creeping back_): Come along now!
Out with it!

DAN: It's only fancy, I suppose ... but ... you remind me a bit of her.

MRS. BRAMSON: Of your mother? (_As he nods simply, her sentimentality
stirring_) Oh ...

DAN: Have you got a son?

MRS. BRAMSON (_self-pityingly_): I haven't anybody at all.

DAN: Oh ... But I don't like to talk too much about my mother.
(_Putting a finger unobtrusively to his eye_) Makes me feel ...
sort of sad ... (_With a sudden thought_) She had the same eyes
very wide apart as you, and--and the same very good hands.

MRS. BRAMSON (_looking interestedly at her fingers_): Oh?... And
the same palpitations?

DAN: And the same palpitations. You don't mind me talking about your
health, do you?

MRS. BRAMSON: No.

DAN: Well, d'you know, you ought to get used to letting _other_
people do things for you.

MRS. BRAMSON (_a great truth dawning on her_): Yes!

DAN: You ought to be very careful.

MRS. BRAMSON: Yes! (_After a pause, eyeing him as he smiles at
her_) You're a funny boy to be a page-boy.

DAN (_shyly_): D'you think so?

MRS. BRAMSON: Well, now I come to talk to you, you seem so much better
class--I mean, you know so much of the world--

DAN: I've knocked about a good bit, you know. Never had any advantages,
but I always tried to do the right thing.

MRS. BRAMSON (_patronisingly_): I think you deserve better--
(_sharply again_) Talking of the right thing, what about Dora?

DAN (_disarming_): Oh, I know I'm to blame; I'm not much of a
chap, but I'd put things straight like a shot if I had any money ...
But, you see, I work at the Tallboys, get thirty bob a week, with
tips--but listen to me botherin' you with my worries and rubbish the
state you're in ... well!

MRS. BRAMSON: No, I can stand it.

OLIVIA _comes back from the sun-room_.

(_Pursing her lips, reflectively_) I've taken a liking to you.

DAN: Well ... (_looking round at OLIVIA_) That's very kind of
you, Mrs. Bramson ...

MRS. BRAMSON: It's the way you talked about your mother. That's what
it was.

DAN: Was it?

OLIVIA (_at the left window_): Shall I pack these books?

DAN (_going to her with alacrity, taking the parcel from her_):
I'll post them for you.

OLIVIA: Oh ...

DAN: I'm passing Shepperley post office on the bike before post time
to-morrow morning. With pleasure!

MRS. BRAMSON: Have you got to go back?

DAN: Now? Well, no, not really ... I've finished on duty now I done
that errand, and this is my half day.

MRS. BRAMSON (_imperiously_): Stay to lunch.

DAN (_apparently taken aback, after a look at_ OLIVIA): Well--I
don't like to impose myself--

MRS. BRAMSON: In the kitchen, of course.

DAN: Oh, I know--

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7