The Servant in the House | Page 7

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 him for fifteen years!
VICAR. Whose fault is that?
AUNTIE. Why, his own, of course! He can't expect to be treated
decently! [She walks up and down with anger.] It's perfectly absurd, it
really is, dear, making all this fuss and trouble about a wretched--

Have you told Mary?
VICAR. No: the silent lie was comparatively easy!
AUNTIE. My dear, do try and be reasonable. Think of what he is!
VICAR. Isn't he my brother?
AUNTIE. No, he's not your brother--at least, nothing that a brother
ought to be! Ridicules everything that you hold sacred! Hates
everything you love! Loves everything you hate! . . .
VICAR. _That's_ true!
AUNTIE. A scoffer, an atheist, a miserable drunkard!
VICAR. That was fifteen years ago, remember, after Mary's mother
died! . . .
AUNTIE. A man like that never changes! What would have become of
that poor child if we hadn't stepped in? Have you ever dared to tell her
what her father's like? Of course not! To-day, too, of all days! It's
utterly preposterous!
VICAR. That is all the more reason why . . .
AUNTIE. My dear, think of his occupation!
VICAR. I think the child ought to be told.
AUNTIE. Of his _occupation_?
VICAR. That, and everything.
AUNTIE. My dear, have you gone perfectly mad? Do you know who's
coming? Do you want to advertise his occupation to all the world?
VICAR. Do you think his brother Joshua would mind that?
AUNTIE. It isn't only your brother Joshua! You think of nobody but
your brother Joshua! Some one else is coming.
VICAR. Who?
AUNTIE. My brother James! [She throws down the letter.] Now you've
heard it all!
[There is a long silence. Then the VICAR speaks in a low, intense
voice of bitter contempt.]
VICAR. Your brother James is coming here today? You have brought
him here to help my brother Joshua! Him!
AUNTIE. Why not? He's rich! He can do it!
VICAR. So, he can recognise me at last!
AUNTIE. It was as much your fault as his, that you have never met! He
naturally resented our marriage.
VICAR [ironically]. But, of course, now that I'm related to the great

and wealthy Bishop of Benares ...
AUNTIE [warmly]. He's as much a bishop as your brother is!
VICAR. He! That gaitered snob!
AUNTIE. William, how dare you!
VICAR. Yes, he's a bishop! A bishop of stocks and shares! A bishop of
the counting-house! A bishop of Mammon!
AUNTIE. William!
VICAR. The devil's own bishop!
AUNTIE. _At least, he isn't a WORKING-MAN_!
VICAR [as though stung]. Ah! . . .
[They stand below the table, one on either side, tense with passion.
They remain so.]
[MANSON and ROGERS come in with the breakfast.