Married Life

Young. You ought first to tell Mrs. Lynx, who and what the people are, before you introduce them to her.

Mrs. Y. There is no necessity for it.

Young. There is.

Mrs. Y. There isn’t.

Young. I tell you, there is.

Mrs. Lynx. Yes, yes – pray tell me.

Mrs. Y. Well, then – Mrs. Dove, you must know, was a widow; and formerly the mistress of a large boarding school; but has now retired, after marrying her footman. They are the oddest couple you ever met with. She is perpetually drilling her husband into politeness and correct pronunciation, which the poor man will never comprehend as long as he lives. Oh, had you but seen them last night! whenever a bell rang, poor Mr. Dove could scarcely help starting from his chair, and running to attend to it; and could only be checked by the alarming eyes of Mrs. Dove. Ha! ha! – Oh, those eyes – how they did remind me of my school-days! just the looks that she used to dart at us, poor refractory girls.

Young. My dear, why don’t you keep to that portion of the narrative, most interesting to Mrs. Lynx; she don’t want to hear of great eyes and refractory girls.

Mrs. Y. I am sure I have mentioned all that is necessary.

Young. You have not.

Mrs. Y. I have.

Young. You have not.

Mrs. Ly. Ask them to walk up, I shall then be satisfied.

Mrs. Y. (Calling.) – Step up, Mrs. Dove, and bring your husband with you.

Young. There is no necessity for calling up Mr. Dove.

Mrs. Y. There is.

Young. There isn’t.

Mrs. Y. There is.

Young. They are here; don’t make a noise.

Mrs. Y. ’Twas you that made the noise.

Young. ’Twas not.

Mrs. Y. It was.

Enter MR. and MRS. DOVE

Mrs. Y. Mrs. Lynx – Mr. and Mrs. Dove. – Will you be kind enough to relate to Mrs. Lynx the purport of your enquiry?

Mrs. Dove. The purport of my enquiry is to ascertain, whether the Mr. Lynx, that I am informed is residing here, is the identical person who, two years ago, placed a young lady under my care?

Mrs. Y. A young lady! My husband place a young lady under your care?

Young. Nay, madam, before you distress yourself, you had better be assured that the Mr. Lynx alluded to, is your husband.

Mrs. Dove. The gentleman’s Christian cognomen was Lionel.

Dove. Lionel Lynx, Esquire.

Mrs. Dove. Silence, my dear!

Dove. That is what was on a trunk he sent to our house; that’s all I know, my precious.

Mrs. Ly. The name is perfectly correct.

Mrs. Dove. I was told that he had been in the army.

Mrs. Ly. Right, Madam.

Mrs. Dove. But had sold his commission, and married.

Mrs. Ly. You are right, Madam – it is the same; there is not the slightest shadow of a doubt but ’tis the same; – and this person that he placed with you, what was she?

Mrs. Dove. A young lady of great personal attractions.

Mrs. Ly. Ha!

Dove. She played the harp diwinely.

Mrs. Dove. Divinely, dear, – think of your v’s.

Dove. Hang them we’s – I shall never get over ’em.

Mrs. Dove. She was placed at my establishment, not so much with a view to education, as with reference to the meeting with a comfortable and respectable home at a moderate charge.

Dove. A hundred a-year, and bring your own silver knife, fork, spoon, and six towels!

Mrs. Dove. Hush, love, we must forget the school now!

Mrs. Ly. I never heard of this. – Who could the girl have been? What was her age?

Mrs. Dove. At that time seventeen.

Mrs. Ly. Her name?

Mrs. Dove. Harriet Seymour.

Mrs. Ly. Where is she now?

Mrs. Dove. That question I am quite incompetent to answer – she resided with me a year and a half – and at the end of that time suddenly disappeared.

Dove. We think she eloped, for every now and then somebody used to come and sing under the windows, to such a degree that all the girls in the house went raving mad.

Mrs. Dove. Silence, dear.

Dove. Yes, darling.

Mrs. Dove. At the time of the young lady’s disappearance there remained a small balance in my favour on her account, for extra’s, and of which I think it probable that Mr. Lynx is not aware.

Dove. Eight pound odd.

Mrs. Dove. Pounds, dear – speak in the plural.

Dove. Pounds, love?

Mrs. Ly. I’m in a maze – bewildered – who can this girl have been? Did she – did she seem attached to him?

Mrs. Dove. Very.

Dove. He called once, and I happened to enter the room quite promiscuously where they was.

Mrs. Dove. Where they were; I was – they were.

Dove. Where they were; and I saw the young lady a dissolving away into tears upon his shoulder; I was then Mrs. D’s. footman!

Mrs. Dove. Henry!

Dove. Martha!

Mrs. Dove. How often have I told you never to touch —

Dove. Oh, la! Ah, I forgot.

Mrs. Ly. ’Twas some victim to his villainy, no doubt. How to discover the mystery – how to come upon him, when he may be unprepared for equivocation! I have it – my friends, – (to MR. and MRS. YOUNGHUSBAND) – If you should meet Mr. Lynx, let me implore you not to breathe a syllable of this matter to him – let me be the first to tell him. Pray oblige me by dining here to-morrow, – (To MR. and MRS. DOVE) – you shall then be introduced to my husband, and should it indeed be the person that placed that girl under your care, he cannot dare to deny it. You, my friends – (To MR. and MRS. Y.) – will also be here – nay, I will invite every soul that I am acquainted with, and publicly expose his villainy.

Mrs. Dove. We will do ourselves that honour.

Mrs. Ly. To-morrow, at five.

Mrs. Dove. We shall be punctual, Madam.

Dove. (Aside to MRS. D.) – You said you’d take me to the Jewological Gardens.

Mrs. Dove. We must defer it, my dear. – (Aside to DOVE.)

Dove. That’s the way you always serves me – you never promise to take me any where, but I am continually disappinted.

Mrs. Dove. Pointed.

Dove. Pointed. You use me shameful, dear.

Mrs. Dove. Don’t be an idiot, love.

Dove. You’re a brute, precious.

Mrs. Dove. Henry. – (Looking fiercely at him.)

Dove. Oh them eyes – I never can answer ’em.

Mrs. Dove. Then to-morrow at five, Mrs. Lynx.

Mrs. Ly. I shall rely on you being here – you will not disappoint me? —

Mrs. Dove. Certainly not. Good morning, Madam. – Now, Henry, your arm.

Mrs. Ly. The servant shall see you to the door. – (MRS. LYNX pulls a bell-rope hanging by the side of the fire-place; a bell rings. DOVE suddenly starts, and is running confusedly as if to answer it, when MRS. DOVE checks him.)

Mrs. Dove. My lamb, you forget yourself.

Dove. Deuce take them bells, I never can hear one without running to answer it.

Mrs. Dove. Good morning, Mrs. Lynx – Good morning, Madam, – Good morning, Sir – (curtseying profoundly to each.) – Now, my dear, (aside to DOVE.) – Don’t forget to leave the room like a gentleman. – (They approach the L. H. door, when they both make a profound obeisance, and go off. MRS. LYNX falls in a chair, hiding her face in her hands.)

Mrs. Y. My dear Mrs. Lynx, pray don’t allow this matter to affect you so seriously.

Young. Louisa, why do you check the feelings of our friend? you ought to be aware that tears are a great relief when one is suffering from mental agitation.

Mrs. Y. No, they a’nt; a pretty relief, indeed, to break one’s heart with crying.

Young. It is a relief.

Mrs. Y. No it is’nt – how do you know? – you never cry, you harden’d creature.

Young. I prefer preserving my tears for a certain event.

Mrs. Y. Ah, when you lose me.

Young. Yes, dear.

Mrs. Y. That’s the kindest thing you have said since our marriage.

Young. No it an’t.

Mrs. Y. Yes it is

Young. It an’t.

Mrs. Y. It is.

Mrs. Ly. My dear friends – pray cease your bickering.

Mrs. Young. He will always contradict me.

Mrs. Ly. If you meet my husband, pray be silent on this matter, and be here to-morrow, I beg; and should I be compelled to take a desperate resource to conquer the feelings that now consume me, you will know how to pity and to pardon me. – (she sinks into a chair.)

Mrs. Y. Come, Frederick, we’ll soon leave poor Mrs. Lynx; people don’t like to have their sorrows intruded upon.

Young. We ought rather to stay and console her.

Mrs. Y. A charming consoler you are – how did you console me yesterday, when that frightful bonnet was sent home?

Young. ’Twas your own taste.

Mrs. Y. It was not.

Young. You insisted on having a fall of blond in the front of it.

Mrs. Y. That is the thing I detest.

Young. It is the very thing that you ordered.

Mrs. Y. When I tried it on, you told me that I never looked so frightful in all my life.

Young. I didn’t.

Mrs. Y. You did – I’ll burn it when I go home.

Young. Indeed you shall not.

Mrs. Y. I will – and I’ll wear my dirty yellow one to vex you.

[Exit L. H.

Young. Louisa! how can you be so absurd. Louisa, why don’t you wait for me? you’re the most aggravating woman I ever met with.

Mrs. Y. (Without.) – I shall go home alone.

Young. You shall not – (rushing out L. H.)

Mrs. Y. I will – (without.)

Young. You shall not – (without.)

Mrs. Y. I will.

Young. You shall not.

Mrs. Y. I hate you.

Young. You don’t.

Mrs. Y. I do.

Young. You don’t.

Mrs. Y. I do.

(The voices of MR. and MRS. Y. are heard contradicting each other, till they gradually cease.)

Mrs. Ly. I surely never felt the passion of jealousy till this moment; all my past suspicions have been mere faults of temper, compared with the restlessness, the wretched thoughts, and sinking of the heart, that I now endure. Who can this girl be? Where is she now? He knows full well – no doubt he visits her – may at this moment be in her society. I’ll leave the house – him – all – for this agony is more than I can bear – (she is rushing out L. H. when LYNXappears.)

Lynx. Where are you going in such haste?

Mrs. Ly. (Controlling her feelings.) – So soon returned.

Lynx. I had forgotten my purse – (going to desk, on a table up the stage.)

Mrs. Ly. I hope you have been gratified by your walk?

Lynx. Yes, perfectly.

Mrs. Ly. Of course you were not so much annoyed at your disappointment, but you sought amends in some more certain amusement?

Lynx. Yes, dear – I returned to you.

Mrs. Ly. You little thought that your note of assignation – your note of “mere business,” was written by me.

Lynx. It was, eh? And pray, what end has the paltry trick answered?

Mrs. Ly. Your immediate attention to it, has convinced me of your perfidy.

Lynx. Indeed! Could you think of no better plan to convict me? – (Taking a chair.)

Mrs. Ly. I have little occasion to tax my invention further, Sir; I now feel quite assured of my misery.

Lynx. Of what misery?

Mrs. Ly. The possession of a husband, who practices concealment. – (Aside) – I did not intend to breathe a syllable of what I have heard; but I cannot resist. I must tell him – perhaps he may be guiltless. Lionel! is the name of Harriet Seymour known to you?

Lynx. (Starting from his seat) – Who has dared to utter that name to you? who has dared to breathe a word of that person?

Mrs. Ly. Ha! now I am, indeed, firmly – wretchedly convinced. What, Sir! your agitation leaves you defenceless? – Where are your arts – your falsehoods – your equivocations, now?

Lynx. Who has been here?

Mrs. Ly. I shall not name.

Lynx. By heaven, you shall. – (Seizing her arm.)

Mrs. Ly. Hold, Sir! would you use violence? Would you conceal your shame, by rage? Listen to me! Ere I quite decide upon my course, I will give you one opportunity of justifying yourself – one chance of a full and fair explanation. Promise me to be at home to-morrow, – I will not, in the mean time, allude to this matter, by a single word; no, no – till then I will conquer my feelings and be silent. I shall be sorry to proceed in the revenge that I contemplate; but should I have cause – remember, ’twas your own hand that cast down the fire-brand here; and if I do take it up, and set the home of our happiness in flames, you alone are to blame.

[Exit, R. H.

Lynx. What can she mean? Does she threaten me with retaliation? Who can have been here – through what channel can she have heard? But I must avoid all explanation; I dare not reveal aught connected with that unhappy girl.

Enter CODDLE, L. H

Cod. Excuse my coming in so unceremoniously – I knew you were here – I saw you come home – merely called to oblige Mrs. Coddle. There’s that window still open; permit me to shut it. – (He crosses to R. H., and pulls down the window.) – Mrs. Lynx has hinted to my wife that a familiarity exists between you and her, and one that I ought not to shut my eyes to; now, I candidly confess that I have opened them as wide as I can, and what Mrs. Lynx can possibly see I am at a loss to guess. But entirely to oblige my wife, I call here, at the risk of my life – as I did not intend coming out any more to-day – to ask if such a familiarity really exists? Mrs. Coddle demands it, for my own satisfaction. If I am not satisfied, she insists on my fighting you; and if I am, she is determined to make Mrs. Lynx beg her pardon. Now, what is to be done?

Lynx. My dear Sir, you well know the temper of my wife, and the pains that she takes to make herself wretched. Be assured that her suspicions are groundless.

Cod. I know they are; and I am convinced it has all originated in my wife’s anxiety to excite me.

Lynx. A word with you; – (bringing CODDLE forward) – I left you here when I went out this morning – did any one call during your stay?

Cod. No one but Mr. and Mrs. Younghusband.

Lynx. (Aside.) – Surely they can’t have heard – no – no – yet they may. Ha, a thought strikes me. Sir, you have more than professed a friendship for me?

Cod. And have proved it, too. Didn’t I visit you every week, when you lodged in that airy situation at Hampstead?

Lynx. My wife has, by some means, yet unknown to myself, discovered my connexion with a young female.

Cod. Oh you villain – why don’t you wear a Welsh wig? you would escape all these troubles, then?

Lynx. I am compelled to avoid all explanation respecting her.

Cod. Well?

Lynx. ’Tis in your power to relieve me from my embarrassment.

Cod. In what way?

Lynx. This young female, I, some time since, placed at a country school for protection —

Cod. You rogue!

Lynx. She disappeared, and all trace of her had been lost.

Cod. Well?

Lynx. My wife has this moment mentioned her name —

Cod. Then, of course, she has discovered your trick?

Lynx. You must publicly declare this girl to be your own.

Cod. What?

Lynx. Your own daughter, and that to save your secret, I undertook her charge.

Cod. Bless you – what would Mrs. Coddle say? My dear boy she’d murder me. I could not support such an assertion for the world – how could I ever look in my wife’s face afterwards?

Lynx. With more confidence than were she to know —

Cod. What? (LYNX whispers CODDLE, who staggers back to a chair in great alarm.) – I’m a dead man!

Lynx. I know more than you thought, Mr. Coddle. – Now, Sir, you see the plot is not one of such very great difficulty to execute. If you will not assist me, I must proclaim —

Cod. Not a word, on your life – plunge me into a cold bath, make me sleep a whole night on the top of the Monument – compel me to do any thing for which I have a horror – but breathe not a word of that– of that—

Lynx. Do, then, as I request you.

Cod. I will – I swear it – there – (falls on both his knees.)

Lynx. Save my secret, and I will preserve yours.

END OF ACT I

ACT II

SCENE I

An Apartment in the house of MR. CODDLE; windows at the back with curtains; the doors are edged with list and leather. Table and chairs; an easy chair in the centre of the stage; MRS. CODDLE discovered at the table, a note in her hand.

Mrs. Cod. How very odd! how very strange! though this note arrived last night, I have scarcely done anything since but read it. – (Reads.) – “My dear Mrs. Coddle, pray pardon the warmth of my temper that led me to use certain expressions to you, of which, at the time, I was not conscious – though now, on recollection of them, I express my sorrow. Forgive me, and dine with us at five to-morrow, do not dissappoint me on your life, as I have a strong reason for inviting you; bring Coddle with you, of course. Sincerely yours, Emmeline Lynx.” What a strange woman! who would suppose, that yesterday, she desired me to quit the house and never enter there again. Well, I’m resolved to go. What a length of time Coddle takes for dressing; ’tis now half-past four, and I have been ready this hour. – (She knocks at R. H. D.) – Coddle, you drone, make haste.

Cod. (Within.) – I shall be ready immediately – I am now putting on my fourth waistcoat.

Mrs. Cod. And he wears six– how the man can exist in such a state, I know not; and what is the matter with him, I am equally at a loss to guess; he has been overpowered with nervous agitation, and in a high fever all the morning – has been talking in his sleep all night. I could only catch the words “Dont, – I’ll say any thing – declare any thing – but don’t;” – the man has something on his mind – what can it be? – He surely can’t have committed any crime – a robbery, nor a murder? – oh, the monster! I must question him. – (Enter CODDLE, R. H. D., dressed for a dinner party.) – Well, my dear, are you better?

Cod. Not much – I feel very faint.

Mrs. Cod. Give me your hand. – (CODDLE presents his hand timidly.) – Dear – dear – what a burning fever you are in – your hands are like live coals; and what a pulse. – (Feeling his pulse.) – Heaven’s, Samuel! – you are ill!

Cod. I am.

Mrs. Cod. And the cause is not so much bodily infirmity as mental anxiety.

Cod. Lord! – do you – do you think so?

Mrs. Cod. You are fainting – let me open the windows.

Cod. No – no – not for worlds.

Mrs. Cod. What has caused this fever?

Cod. I – I – don’t know.

Mrs. Cod. Coddle, your mind is diseased.

Cod. My dear, don’t speak to me in that fierce manner, you make me tremble from head to foot.

Mrs. Cod. You pass’d a wretched night.

Cod. I did.

Mrs. Cod. You talk’d in your sleep.

Cod. No! – (Alarmed.) – Did I – what did I say?

Mrs. Cod. Sufficient to rouse my suspicions.

Cod. I have been criminating myself – ’twas while I was dreaming of being hanged. – (Aside.) – What will become of me?

Mrs. Cod. Tell me – what is this matter that has so suddenly disconcerted you?

Cod. Ah – she don’t know – I breathe again.

Mrs. Cod. Answer me, Sir; what have you done?

Cod. I – I – left off my life-preserving under-waistcoat, yesterday.

Mrs. Cod. Base equivocator – you shall have no rest, depend upon it, till I am perfectly acquainted with the cause of your agitation. I have watched your actions, Sir, more than you are aware of; ’tis something in which Mr. Lynx is concerned; I observed you, when you returned from his house yesterday, you came home quite an altered man – you that were not to be roused by any thing that did not interfere with your own immediate comfort, seemed suddenly to have changed your nature: the servant left your room door open, unchecked; a broken pane close to your ear escaped your notice – you ate no supper – you ordered no fire in your bed-room – and your sleep was disturbed by sighs and groans, and words of guilt. – Ha! – I have made you tremble – now, Sir, I shall leave you, and in the meantime you will do well to prepare for a confession that I am resolved to wring from you. – (Aside.) – I have shaken him from his lethargy at last.

[Exit, L. H.

Cod. I am a lost man – I knew my day of reckoning would arrive. Mary suspects something, that’s clear – um! – and I’m going out to dinner too – what a dinner it will be to me; it must be a feast of poison, and a flow of woe – if my secret is preserved, my promise to Lynx must lead to a commotion. – Who can this girl be that I undertake to own? Ha! ha! – now I think of it, I am safe; he dare not betray me, he is as much in my power as I am in his– yet how could he have discovered my unhappy situation? He won’t acknowledge that. No – no; he considers that mystery adds to his strong hold upon me. I have borrowed a book of criminal jurisprudence, from my attorney. – I want to learn the utmost penalty of the law for my offence. – (He takes a book from his pocket and turns over the leaves.) – Here it is – bigamy! – (Reads.) – “If guilty,” – what? “transportation for life.” Oh! – (Falling in a chair.) – Think of my being at Botany Bay – working night and day – summer and winter – in trousers without lining – only a shirt on my back – and a chain round my leg; no umbrella to put up when it rains, no such thing as a yard of Welch flannel within a thousand miles of me, and nothing aired for me – I should die – the first damp night would send me to the tomb of the Coddles – oh! – (Shuddering.)

Re-enter MRS. CODDLE, introducing MR. and MRS. DISMAL

Mrs. Cod. Come in, come in; there is nobody here but Coddle.

Cod. Ah, Mr. Dismal! – I was thinking of you.

Mrs. Cod. Mr. and Mrs. D. have also received an invitation to dine at Lynx’s to-day – and have called, in passing, to know if we were also going.

Mrs. Dis. How ill poor Mr. Coddle looks!

Dis. What is the matter with him?

Mrs. Cod. I’m sure I can’t tell, he keeps the cause of his illness a profound secret.

Mrs. Dis. He’s like me – he loves to pine in solitude, and brood over unrevealed sorrows.

Dis. You love to be a fool.

Mrs. Cod. Our friends are as much surprised at receiving an invitation from Mrs. Lynx as we were.