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The Master of Mrs. Chilvers: An Improbable Comedy
The Master of Mrs. Chilvers: An Improbable Comedy
CHARACTERS IN THE PLAY
THE FIRST ACT
Scene: —Drawing-room, 91, Russell Square.
Time: —Afternoon
(Mrs. Elizabeth Spender sits near the fire, reading a book. She is a tall, thin woman, with passionate eyes, set in an oval face of olive complexion; the features are regular and severe; her massive dark hair is almost primly arranged. She wears a tailor-made costume, surmounted by a plain black hat. The door opens and Phoebe enters, shown in by Hake, the butler, a thin, ascetic-looking man of about thirty, with prematurely grey hair. Phoebe Mogton is of the Fluffy Ruffles type, petite, with a retroussé nose, remarkably bright eyes, and a quantity of fluffy light hair, somewhat untidily arranged. She is fashionably dressed in the fussy, flyaway style. Elizabeth looks up; the two young women shake hands.)
Phoebe. Good woman. ’Tisn’t three o’clock yet, is it?
Elizabeth. About five minutes to.
Phoebe. Annys is on her way. I just caught her in time. (To Hake.) Put a table and six chairs. Give mamma a hammer and a cushion at her back.
Hake. A hammer, miss?
Phoebe. A chairman’s hammer. Haven’t you got one?
Hake. I’m afraid not, miss. Would a gravy spoon do?
Phoebe (To Elizabeth, after expression of disgust.) Fancy a house without a chairman’s hammer! (To Hake.) See that there’s something. Did your wife go to the meeting last night?
Hake (He is arranging furniture according to instructions.) I’m not quite sure, miss. I gave her the evening out.
Phoebe. “Gave her the evening out”!
Elizabeth. We are speaking of your wife, man, not your servant.
Hake. Yes, miss. You see, we don’t keep servants in our class. Somebody’s got to put the children to bed.
Elizabeth. Why not the man – occasionally?
Hake. Well, you see, miss, in my case, I rarely getting home much before midnight, it would make it so late. Yesterday being my night off, things fitted in, so to speak. Will there be any writing, miss?
Phoebe. Yes. See that there’s plenty of blotting-paper. (To Elizabeth.) Mamma always splashes so.
Hake. Yes, miss.
(He goes out.)
Elizabeth. Did you ever hear anything more delightfully naïve? He “gave” her the evening out. That’s how they think of us – as their servants. The gentleman hasn’t the courage to be straightforward about it. The butler blurts out the truth. Why are we meeting here instead of at our own place?
Phoebe. For secrecy, I expect. Too many gasbags always about the office. I fancy – I’m not quite sure – that mamma’s got a new idea.