The Servant in the House | Page 6

Sunday about Pure religion and undefiled! He mentioned Mrs. Durden only a week ago; but I forgot. Now, run along.
MARY [reluctantly]. Very well, auntie.
[She goes out by the main door.]
AUNTIE [laughing]. Inconsiderate little monkey!
I am glad you have not thought of changing your pretty, native costume, Manson. It is very picturesque; and, besides, to-day there is a special reason why it may be considered complimentary.
[A double knock is heard at the outer door.]
Ah! Quick, Manson! The postman!
[MANSON goes out. AUNTIE takes a look at the coat: rearranges the flowers, humming, meanwhile, "The Church's One Foundation"; and then stands impatiently awaiting MANSON'S reappearance. Presently he returns with a letter on server.]
MANSON. A letter for you, ma'am.
AUNTIE. Ah! What I expected!
[She breaks open the letter and reads it eagerly.]
Excellent! [More dubiously]. Excellent . . .
Manson, we shall have to be very busy to-day. There will be quite a Church Congress to lunch--two bishops!
MANSON. Oh, not as bad as that, ma'am!
AUNTIE. Manson!
MANSON. Beg pardon, ma'am; but master mentioned only one--his brother, the Bishop of Benares.
AUNTIE. My brother will join us also--the Bishop of Lancashire. This is his letter.
And now let's have breakfast, at once. The vicar is sure to be earlier than he said; and I'm hungry.
[MANSON goes to the door. As he opens it, the VICAR and ROGERS reappear.]
MANSON. Here is master. I'll hurry up the breakfast, ma'am.
VICAR [entering]. Do, Manson. Let's get it over.
[MANSON goes out.]
Excuse me, my dear.
[ROGERS helps him off with the cassock.]
So tiresome! Not a place in the house to do anything! Confound the drains! Just run up-stairs for my coat, Rogers.
AUNTIE. It's here, dear. I have it warming for you.
VICAR [more graciously]. Oh, thank you, Martha. That will do, then, Rogers. Tell Manson to hurry up.
[ROGERS helps him on and goes out. The cassock is left lying on the long stool by the window.]
[The VICAR crosses moodily to the fireplace. AUNTIE stands undecided, watching him, the letter in her hand.]
AUNTIE. You're back early, dear.
VICAR. What can you expect? Not a soul there, of course!
AUNTIE. My poor William! I'm glad I thought to hurry up the breakfast.
VICAR. Thanks, dear. You are always thoughtful.
AUNTIE. William . . .
[He looks up.]
I--I want to have a little talk with you.
VICAR. What is it? Any more--worry?
AUNTIE. You needn't make it so.
VICAR.. Ah!
AUNTIE [moving over to him and stroking his hair]. My dearest is not well.
VICAR. I think you are right, Martha. I am not well.
AUNTIE [alarmed]. Not the trouble with your heart again?
VICAR. No; I fancy it goes deeper than that!
AUNTIE. William! What do you mean?
VICAR [suddenly facing her]. Martha! Do you know the sort of man you have been living with all these years? Do you see through me? Do you know me?--No: don't speak: I see your answer already--Your own love blinds you! Ha! I am a good man!--I don't drink, I don't swear, I am respectable, I don't blaspheme like Bletchley! Oh yes, and I am a scholar: I can cackle in Greek: I can wrangle about God's name: I know Latin and Hebrew and all the cursed little pedantries of my trade! But do you know what I am? Do you know what your husband is in the sight of God? He is a LIAR!
AUNTIE. William!
VICAR. A liar! I heard it in my ears as I stood up before Christ's altar in the church this morning, reciting my miserable creed! I heard it in my prayers! I heard it whilst I tasted . . . whilst I drank . . . whilst I . . .
[He sinks into a chair, and buries his face in his hands.]
AUNTIE. Oh, you are ill!
VICAR [breaking down]. O wretched man that I am! Who shall deliver me out of the body of this death?
[She stands above him, hesitating. After a moment, she says, determinedly.]
AUNTIE. I know: it's this money trouble. It's what Joshua said in his letter about your having to get somebody to help him. Well, that's just what I wanted to speak to you about. I have a way out of the difficulty.
VICAR. It's not the church. I could wish every Stone of it were crumbled into dust!
AUNTIE. William, how wicked of you! . . .
Is it--is it anything to do with your brother Joshua? Why don't you answer?
VICAR. _It has to do with my brother--Robert_.
AUNTIE. Mary's fa . . .
William, did you send him that telegram yesterday?
VICAR. Yes: that was a lie, too!
AUNTIE. Nonsense! Don't be absurd!
VICAR. It was a lie!
AUNTIE. You told him we couldn't do with him because the house was upset: that's true! You told him that the drains were up in the study: that's true!
VICAR. Was that the real reason why we refused to have him here? Was it?
AUNTIE. I can't think what possessed him to write and say he'd come. We've not heard from