The Master of Mrs. Chilvers: An Improbable Comedy

Janet. How was Mrs. Chilvers seeming this afternoon?

Ginger. Never ’eard ’er speak better, miss.

Janet. Did you stop to the end?

Ginger. Not quite. Mrs. Spender wanted some shopping done.

(Janet goes out.)

Ginger. Can I ’elp yer?

Jawbones. Yer might hold the piper while I blow.

(The fire begins to burn.)

Ginger. It’s getting brighter.

Jawbones. That’s caught it.

Ginger. Wonderful what a little coaxing will do.

Jawbones. (He is still squatting on his heels, folding up the paper. He looks up.) Ain’t yer ever thought of that, instead of worrying about the vote?

Ginger. (She moves away.) You don’t understand us wimmin.

Jawbones. (He has risen. He pauses in his folding of the paper.) Don’t say that.

Ginger. Why should we coax yer – for our rights?

Jawbones. Because it’s the easiest way of getting ’em.

Ginger. (She has become oratorical.) Our appeal is not to man (with upraised hand) but to Justice!

Jawbones. Oh! And what does the lidy say?

Ginger. (Descending.) ’Ow do yer mean?

Jawbones. To your appeal. Is she goin’ to give ’em to yer? You tike my tip: if yer in a ’urry, you get a bit on account – from Man. ’Ere. (He dives into his pocket, produces, wrapped up in tissue paper, a ring, which he exhibits to her.) That’s a bit more in your line.

Ginger. (Her eyes sparkle. She takes the ring in her hand. Then problems come to her.) Why do yer want me, William?

Jawbones. Because, in spite of all, I love yer.

Ginger. (She looks into the future.) What will I be? A general servant, without wages.

Jawbones. The question, as it seems to me, is, which of us two is the biggest fool? Instead of thirty bob a week in my pocket to spend as I like – guess I’ll ’ave to be content with three ’alf-crowns.

Ginger. Seven an’ six! Rather a lot, Bill, out o’ thirty bob. Don’t leave much for me an’ the children.

Jawbones. I shall ’ave to get my dinners.

Ginger. I could mike yer somethin’ tasty to tike with yer. Then with, say – three shillings —

Jawbones. ’Ere – (He is on the point of snatching back the ring. He encounters her eyes. There is a moment’s battle. The Eternal Feminine conquers.) Will yer always look as sweet as yer do now?

Ginger. Always, Bill. So long as yer good to me!

(She slips the ring over her finger, still with her eyes drawing him. He catches her to him in fierce passion, kisses her.)

(A loud shrill female cheer comes from the crowd. The cheer is renewed and renewed.)

Jawbones. (He breaks away and goes to the window.) ’Ullo! What are they shoutin’ about now? (He looks out.) It’s the Donah!

Ginger. Mrs. Chilvers?

Jawbones. Yus. Better not get wearin’ it – may shock their feelings.

Ginger. (She gazes rapturously at the ring as she draws it off.) It is a beauty! I do love yer, Bill.

(There enter Annys and Elizabeth. Annys is excited; she is laughing and talking.)

Annys. (Laughing while she rearranges her hat and hair.) A little embarrassing. That red-haired girl – she carried me right up the steps. I was afraid she would —

(Jawbones has been quick enough to swing a chair into place just in time to receive her.)

(She recovers herself.) Thank you.

Elizabeth. (She hands Annys a smelling-bottle. To Jawbones.) Open the window a few inches.

(He does so. Some woman, much interrupted, is making a speech.)

(Janet opens the door a little way and looks in.)

Janet. Oh, it is you! I am glad!

(She goes out again.)

Elizabeth. Are the others all here?

Ginger. ’Er ladyship is watching the counting. Miss Phoebe ’as just gone out —

(Phoebe enters.)

Oh, ’ere she is.

Phoebe. Hullo! (She is taking off her things.) Wherever have you been? We’ve been scouring the neighbourhood —

(Lady Mogton enters, followed by Janet.)

I say, you’re looking jolly chippy.

Elizabeth. We had an extra enthusiastic meeting. She spoke for rather a long time. I made her come home with me and lie down. I think she is all right now.

Lady Mogton. Would you like to see a doctor?

Phoebe. There is a very good man close here. (She turns to Jawbones, who is still near the window.) Gordon —

Annys. (Interrupting.) No. Please don’t. I am quite all right. I hate strange doctors.

Phoebe. Well, let me send for Whitby; he could be here in twenty minutes.

Annys. I wish you would all leave me alone. There’s absolutely nothing to fuss about whatever. We pampered women – we can’t breathe the same air that ordinary mortals have to. We ought to be ashamed of ourselves.

Phoebe. (To herself.) Obstinate pig.

(She catches Jawbones’ eye; unnoticed by the others, she takes him aside. They whisper.)

Annys. How is it going?

Lady Mogton. You must be prepared for winning. (She puts again the question that Annys has frequently been asked to answer during the last few days.) What are you going to do?

(Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers enters, as usual in a flutter of excitement.)

Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers. Am I late?

(They brush her back into silence. Elizabeth takes charge of her.)

Annys. (She has risen.) You think it wise tactics, to make it impossible for Geoffrey to be anything else in the future but our enemy?

Lady Mogton. (Contemptuously.) You are thinking of him, and not of the cause.

Annys. And if I were! Haven’t I made sacrifice enough? – more than any of you will ever know. Ay – and would make more, if I felt it was demanded of me. I don’t! (Her burst of anger is finished. She turns, smiling.) I’m much more cunning than you think. There will be other elections we shall want to fight. With the Under-Secretary for Home Affairs in sympathy with us, the Government will find it difficult to interfere. Don’t you see how clever I am?

(Jawbones, having received his instructions from Phoebe, has slipped out unobserved. He has beckoned to Ginger; she has followed him. Phoebe has joined the group.)

Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers. There’s something in that.

Janet. Is Mr. Chilvers still in sympathy with us?

Phoebe. Of course he is. A bit rubbed up the wrong way just at present; that’s our fault. When Annys goes down, early next mouth, to fight the Exchange Division of Manchester, we shall have him with us.

(A moment.)

Lady Mogton. Where do you get that from?

Phoebe. From St. Herbert. The present member is his cousin. They say he can’t live more than a week.

Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers. It really seems like Providence.

Annys. (Has taken the opportunity of giving Phoebe a grateful squeeze of the hand.)

Lady Mogton. You will fight Manchester?

Annys. Yes. (Laughs.) And make myself a public nuisance if I win.

Lady Mogton. Well, must be content with that, I suppose. Better not come in; the room’s rather crowded. I’ll keep you informed how things are going.

(She goes out, followed by Janet.)

Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers. I’ll stay with you, dear.

Phoebe. I want you to come and be photographed for the Daily Mirror. The man’s waiting downstairs.

Elizabeth. I’ll stop with Annys.

Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers. I’m not quite sure, you know, that I take well by flashlight.

Phoebe. You wait till you’ve seen mamma! We must have you. They want you for the centre of the page.

Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers. Well, if it’s really —

Phoebe. (To the others.) Shall see you again. (She winks. Then to Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers.) We mustn’t keep them waiting. They are giving us a whole page.

(Phoebe takes Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers out. Elizabeth has followed to the door; she closes it. Annys has reseated herself, facing the fire.)

Elizabeth. When did you see your husband last?

Annys. Not since – Tuesday, wasn’t it, that we went round to his rooms. Why?

Elizabeth. I’m thinking about Manchester. What was it he said to you?

Annys. Oh, we were, both of us, a little over-excited, I suppose. He has – (she hesitates, finally answers) – he has always been so eager for children.

Elizabeth. Yes. So many men are; not having to bear the pain and inconvenience themselves.

Annys. Oh, well, they have to provide for them when they do come. That’s fair enough division, I su – (Suddenly she turns fiercely.) Why do you talk like that? As if we women were cowards. Do you think if God sent me a child I should grudge Him the price!

Elizabeth. Do you want Him to?

Annys. I don’t know; prayed Him to, once.

Elizabeth. (She lays her hand upon her.) It isn’t a few more mothers that the world has need of. It is the women whom God has appointed – to whom He has given freedom, that they may champion the cause of the mothers, helpless by reason of their motherhood.

(A moment. Geoffrey enters.)

Geoffrey. Good evening.

Annys. (Rises; a smile struggles for possession. But he only shakes hands, and it dies away.)

Elizabeth. Good evening.

(They shake hands.)

Geoffrey. You are not interested in the counting?

Annys. The room is rather crowded. Mamma thought I would be better out here. How have you been?

Geoffrey. Oh, all right. It’s going to be a very near thing, they tell me.

Annys. Yes, I shall be glad when it’s over.

Geoffrey. It’s always a trying time. What are you going to do, if you win?

(Lady Mogton looks in.)

Lady Mogton. (Seeing Geoffrey.) Oh, good evening.

Geoffrey. Good evening.

Lady Mogton. Chilvers, 2,960 – Annys Chilvers, 2,874.

(She disappears – closes door.)

Annys. Perhaps I’m not going to win. (She goes to him, smiling.) I hope you’ll win. I would so much rather you won.

Geoffrey. Very kind of you. I’m afraid that won’t make it a certainty.

Annys. (His answer has hardened her again.) How can I? It would not be fair. Without your consent I should never have entered upon it. It was understood that the seat, in any case, would be yours.

Geoffrey. I would rather you considered yourself quite free. In warfare it doesn’t pay to be “fair” to one’s enemy.

Annys. (Still hardening.) Besides, there is no need. There will be other opportunities. I can contest some other constituency. If I win, claim the seat for that.

(A moment.)

Geoffrey. So this is only the beginning? You have decided to devote yourself to a political career?

Annys. Why not?

Geoffrey. If I were to ask you to abandon it, to come back to your place at my side – helping me, strengthening me?

Annys. You mean you would have me abandon my own task – merge myself in you?

Geoffrey. Be my wife.

Annys. It would not be right. I, too, have my work.

Geoffrey. If it takes you away from me?

Annys. Why need it take me away from you? Why cannot we work together for common ends, each in our own way?

Geoffrey. We talked like that before we tried it. Marriage is not a partnership; it is a leadership.

Annys. (She looks at him.) You mean – an ownership.

Geoffrey. Perhaps you’re right. I didn’t make it. I’m only – beginning to understand it.

Annys. And I too. It is not what I want.

Geoffrey. You mean its duties have become irksome to you.

Annys. I mean I want to be the judge myself of what are my duties.

Geoffrey. I no longer count. You will go your way without me?

Annys. I must go the way I think right.

Geoffrey. (He flings away.) If you win to-night you will do well to make the most of it. Take my advice and claim the seat.

Annys. (Looks at him puzzled.)

Elizabeth. Why?

Geoffrey. Because (with a short, ugly laugh) the Lord only knows when you’ll get another opportunity.

Elizabeth. You are going to stop us?

Geoffrey. To stop women from going to the poll. The Bill will be introduced on Monday. Carried through all its stages the same week.

Elizabeth. You think it will pass?

Geoffrey. The Whips assure me that it will.

Annys. But they cannot, they dare not, without your assent. The – (The light breaks in upon her.) Who is bringing it in?

Geoffrey. I am.

Annys. (Is going to speak.)

Geoffrey. (He stops her.) Oh, I’m prepared for all that – ridicule, abuse. “Chilvers’s Bill for the Better Regulation of Mrs. Chilvers,” they’ll call it. I can hear their laughter. Yours won’t be among it.

Annys. But, Geoffrey! What is the meaning? Merely to spite me, are you going to betray a cause that you have professed belief in – that you have fought for?

Geoffrey. Yes – if it is going to take you away from me. I want you. No, I don’t want a friend – “a fellow-worker” – some interesting rival in well doing. I can get all that outside my home. I want a wife. I want the woman I love to belong to me – to be mine. I am not troubling about being up to date; I’m talking what I feel – what every male creature must have felt since the protoplasmic cell developed instincts. I want a woman to love – a woman to work for – a woman to fight for – a woman to be a slave to. But mine – mine, and nothing else. All the rest (he makes a gesture) is talk.

(He closes the window, shutting out the hubbub of the crowd.)

Annys. (A strange, new light has stolen in. She is bewildered, groping.) But – all this is new between us. You have not talked like this for – not since – We were just good friends – comrades.

Geoffrey. And might have remained so, God knows! I suppose we’re made like that. So long as there was no danger passion slept. I cannot explain it. I only know that now, beside the thought of losing you, all else in the world seems meaningless. The Woman’s Movement! (He makes a gesture of contempt.) Men have wrecked kingdoms for a woman before now – and will again. I want you! (He comes to her.) Won’t you come back to me, that we may build up the home we used to dream of? Wasn’t the old love good? What has this new love to give you? Work that man can do better. The cause of the women – the children! Has woman loved woman better than man? Will the world be better for the children, man and woman contending? Come back to me. Help me. Help me to fight for all good women. Teach me how I may make the world better – for our children.

Annys. (The light is in her eyes. She stands a moment. Her hands are going out to him.)

Elizabeth. (She comes between them.) Yes, go to him. He will be very good to you. Good men are kind to women, kind even to their dogs. You will be among the pampered few! You will be happy. And the others! What does it matter?

(They draw apart. She stands between them, the incarnation of the spirit of sex war.)

The women that have not kind owners – the dogs that have not kind masters – the dumb women, chained to their endless, unpaid drudgery! Let them be content. What are they but man’s chattel? To be honoured if it pleases him, or to be cast into the dust. Man’s pauper! Bound by his laws, subject to his whim; her every hope, her every aspiration, owed to his charity. She toils for him without ceasing: it should be her “pleasure.” She bears him children, when he chooses to desire them. They are his to do as he will by. Why seek to change it? Our man is kind. What have they to do with us: the women beaten, driven, overtasked – the women without hope or joy, the livers of grey lives that men may laugh and spend – the women degraded lower than the beasts to pander to the beast in man – the women outraged and abandoned, bearing to the grave the burden of man’s lust? Let them go their way. They are but our sisters of sorrow. And we who could help them – we to whom God has given the weapons: the brain, and the courage – we make answer: “I have married a husband, and I cannot come.”

(A silence.)

Geoffrey. Well, you have heard. (He makes a gesture.) What is your answer?

Annys. (She comes to him.) Don’t you love me enough to humour me a little – to put up with my vexing ways? I so want to help, to feel I am doing just a little, to make the world kinder. I know you can do it better, but I want so to be “in it.” (She laughs.) Let us forget all this. Wake up to-morrow morning with fresh hearts. You will be Member for East Poplar. And then you shall help me to win Manchester. (She puts her hands upon his breast: she would have him take her in his arms.) I am not strong enough to fight alone.

Geoffrey. I want you. Let Manchester find some one else.

Annys. (She draws away from him.) And if I cannot – will not?

Geoffrey. I bring in my Bill on Monday. We’ll be quite frank about it. That is my price – you. I want you!

Annys. You mean it comes to that: a whole cause dependent on a man and a woman!

Geoffrey. Yes, that is how the world is built. On each man and woman. “How does it shape my life, my hopes?” So will each make answer.

(Lady Mogton enters. She stands silent.)

Elizabeth. Is it over?

Lady Mogton. Annys Chilvers, 3,604 – Geoffrey Chilvers, 3,590.

(Janet enters.)

Janet. (She rushes to Annys, embraces her.) You’ve won, you’ve won! (She flies to the window, opens it, and goes out on to the balcony.)

(Phoebe enters, followed by Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers.)

Phoebe. Is it true?

Lady Mogton. Pretty close. Majority of 14.

Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers. For us?

Lady Mogton. For us.

(Janet by this time has announced the figures. There is heard a great burst of cheering, renewed again and again.)

Janet. (Re-entering.) They want you! They want you!

(Mingled with the cheering come cries of “Speech! Speech!”)

Lady Mogton. You must say something.

(The band strikes up “The Conquering Hero.” The women crowd round Annys, congratulating her. Geoffrey stands apart.)

Phoebe. (Screaming above the din.) Put on your cloak.

Janet. (Rushes and gets it.)

(They wrap it round her.)

(Annys goes out on to the balcony, followed by the other women. Elizabeth, going last, fires a parting smile of triumph at Geoffrey.)

(A renewed burst of cheering announces their arrival on the balcony. The crowd bursts into “For She’s a Jolly Good Fellow” —the band, making a quick change, joins in. Geoffrey remains centre.)

(Jawbones enters unobserved. The singing ends with three cheers. Annys is speaking. Geoffrey turns and sees Jawbones.)

Geoffrey. (With a smile.) Give me down my coat, will you?

Jawbones. (He is sympathetic. He helps him on with it.) Shall I get you a cab, sir?

Geoffrey. No, thanks. I’ll pick one up. (He goes towards the door, then stops.) Is there any other way out – not through the main entrance?

Jawbones. Yes, sir. There’s a side door opening on Woodstock Road. I’ll show it you.

Geoffrey. Thanks. (He follows Jawbones out.)

(A burst of cheering comes from the crowd.)Curtain

THE FOURTH ACT

Scene: —Russell Square. The morning-room (on the ground floor). A small, cheerful room, furnished in Chippendale, white panelled, with Adams fireplace in which a bright fire is burning. Two deep easy-chairs are before the fire. The window-curtains of red damask are drawn. An oval table occupies the centre of the room. The door at back opens upon the hall. Only one light burns, an electric lamp on a table just above the fire.

Time: —Midnight

(The door opens. Geoffrey enters. He has left his out-door things in the hall. He crosses and rings the bell. A moment.)

(Hake enters.)

Geoffrey. Oh, you, Hake! There wasn’t any need for you to have stopped.

Hake. I was not sure of your arrangements. I thought perhaps I might be wanted.

Geoffrey. Sorry. I ought to have told you.

Hake. It’s been no inconvenience, sir. I told Mrs. Hake not to sit up.

Geoffrey. (He is opening and reading his letters left for him on the table.) Does she generally sit up for you?

Hake. As a rule, sir. We like a little chat before going to bed.

Geoffrey. (His eyes on a letter.) What do you find to chat about?

Hake. Oh, there is so much for a husband and wife to talk about. The – As a rule.

(A clock on the mantelpiece strikes one.)

Geoffrey. What’s that?

Hake. Quarter past twelve, sir.

Geoffrey. Has your mistress come in?

Hake. Not yet, sir. Has the election gone all right, sir?

Geoffrey. For Mrs. Chilvers, yes. She is now member for East Poplar.

Hake. I am sorry. It has been a great surprise to me.

Geoffrey. The result?

Hake. The whole thing, sir. Such a sweet lady, we all thought her.

Geoffrey. Life, Hake, is a surprising affair.

(A ring is heard.)

I expect that’s she. She has forgotten her key.

(Hake goes out.)

(Geoffrey continues his letters. A few moments pass; Hake re-enters, closes the door.)

Hake. (He seems puzzled.) It’s a lady, sir

(Geoffrey turns.)

Hake. At least – hardly a lady. A Mrs. Chinn.

Geoffrey. Mrs. Chinn! (He glances at his watch.) At twelve o’clock at night. Well, all right. I’ll see her.

(Hake opens the door, speaks to Mrs. Chinn. She enters, in bonnet and shawl.)

Hake. Mrs. Chinn.

Geoffrey. Good evening, Mrs. Chinn.

Mrs. Chinn. Good evening, sir.

Geoffrey. You needn’t stop, Hake. I shan’t be wanting anything.

Hake. Thank you.

Geoffrey. Apologise for me to Mrs. Hake. Good-night.

Hake. Good-night, sir.

(Hake goes out. A minute later the front door is heard to slam.)

Geoffrey. Won’t you sit down? (He puts a chair for her left of the table.)

Mrs. Chinn. (Seating herself.) Thank you, sir.

Geoffrey. (He half sits on the arm of the easy-chair below the fire.) What’s the trouble?

Mrs. Chinn. It’s my boy, sir – my youngest. He’s been taking money that didn’t belong to him.

Geoffrey. Um. Has it been going on for long?

Mrs. Chinn. About six months, sir. I only heard of it to-night. You see, his wife died a year ago. She was such a good manager. And after she was gone he seems to have got into debt.

Geoffrey. What were his wages?

Mrs. Chinn. Nineteen shillings a week, sir. And that with the rent and three young children – well, it wants thinking out.

Geoffrey. From whom did he take the money – his employers?

Mrs. Chinn. Yes, sir. He was the carman. They had always trusted him to collect the accounts.

Geoffrey. How much, would you say, was the defalcation?

Mrs. Chinn. I beg pardon, sir.

Geoffrey. How much does it amount to, the sums that he has taken?

Mrs. Chinn. Six pounds, sir, Mr. Cohen says it comes to.

Geoffrey. Won’t they accept repayment?

Mrs. Chinn. Yes, sir. Mr. Cohen has been very nice about it. He is going to let me pay it off by instalments.

Geoffrey. Well, then, that gets over most of the trouble.

Mrs. Chinn. Well, you see, sir, unfortunately, Mr. Cohen gave information to the police the moment he discovered it.

Geoffrey. Umph! Can’t he say he made a mistake?

Mrs. Chinn. They say it must go for trial, sir. That he can only withdraw the charge in court.