The Fugitive | Page 4

MALISE, a writer MRS. MILER, his
caretaker THE PORTER at his lodgings A BOY messenger ARNAUD,
a waiter at "The Gascony" MR. VARLEY, manager of "The Gascony"
TWO LADIES WITH LARGE HATS, A LADY AND GENTLEMAN,
A LANGUID LORD, HIS COMPANION, A YOUNG MAN, A

BLOND GENTLEMAN, A DARK GENTLEMAN.

ACT I. George Dedmond's Flat. Evening.
ACT II. The rooms of Malise. Morning.
ACT III. SCENE I. The rooms of Malice. Late afternoon.
SCENE II. The rooms of Malise. Early Afternoon.
ACT IV. A small supper room at "The Gascony."

Between Acts I and II three nights elapse.
Between Acts II and Act III, Scene I, three months.
Between Act III, Scene I, and Act III, Scene II, three months.
Between Act III, Scene II, and Act IV, six months.

"With a hey-ho chivy Hark forrard, hark forrard, tantivy!"

ACT I
The SCENE is the pretty drawing-room of a flat. There are two doors,
one open into the hall, the other shut and curtained. Through a large
bay window, the curtains of which are not yet drawn, the towers of
Westminster can be seen darkening in a summer sunset; a grand piano
stands across one corner. The man-servant PAYNTER, clean-shaven
and discreet, is arranging two tables for Bridge.
BURNEY, the maid, a girl with one of those flowery Botticellian faces
only met with in England, comes in through the curtained door, which
she leaves open, disclosing the glimpse of a white wall. PAYNTER
looks up at her; she shakes her head, with an expression of concern.
PAYNTER. Where's she gone?
BURNEY. Just walks about, I fancy.
PAYNTER. She and the Governor don't hit it! One of these days she'll
flit--you'll see. I like her--she's a lady; but these thoroughbred 'uns--it's
their skin and their mouths. They'll go till they drop if they like the job,
and if they don't, it's nothing but jib--jib--jib. How was it down there
before she married him?
BURNEY. Oh! Quiet, of course.
PAYNTER. Country homes--I know 'em. What's her father, the old
Rector, like?

BURNEY. Oh! very steady old man. The mother dead long before I
took the place.
PAYNTER. Not a penny, I suppose?
BURNEY. [Shaking her head] No; and seven of them.
PAYNTER. [At sound of the hall door] The Governor!
BURNEY withdraws through the curtained door.
GEORGE DEDMOND enters from the hall. He is in evening dress,
opera hat, and overcoat; his face is broad, comely, glossily shaved, but
with neat moustaches. His eyes, clear, small, and blue-grey, have little
speculation. His hair is well brushed.
GEORGE. [Handing PAYNTER his coat and hat] Look here, Paynter!
When I send up from the Club for my dress things, always put in a
black waistcoat as well.
PAYNTER. I asked the mistress, sir.
GEORGE. In future--see?
PAYNTER. Yes, sir. [Signing towards the window] Shall I leave the
sunset, sir?
But GEORGE has crossed to the curtained door; he opens it and says:
"Clare!" Receiving no answer, he goes in. PAYNTER switches up the
electric light. His face, turned towards the curtained door, is
apprehensive.
GEORGE. [Re-entering] Where's Mrs. Dedmond?
PAYNTER. I hardly know, sir.
GEORGE. Dined in?
PAYNTER. She had a mere nothing at seven, sir.
GEORGE. Has she gone out, since?
PAYNTER. Yes, sir--that is, yes. The--er--mistress was not dressed at
all. A little matter of fresh air, I think; sir.
GEORGE. What time did my mother say they'd be here for Bridge?
PAYNTER. Sir Charles and Lady Dedmond were coming at half-past
nine; and Captain Huntingdon, too--Mr. and Mrs. Fullarton might be a
bit late, sir.
GEORGE. It's that now. Your mistress said nothing?
PAYNTER. Not to me, sir.
GEORGE. Send Burney.
PAYNTER. Very good, sir. [He withdraws.]
GEORGE stares gloomily at the card tables. BURNEY comes in front

the hall.
GEORGE. Did your mistress say anything before she went out?
BURNEY. Yes, sir.
GEORGE. Well?
BURNEY. I don't think she meant it, sir.
GEORGE. I don't want to know what you don't think, I want the fact.
BURNEY. Yes, sir. The mistress said: "I hope it'll be a pleasant
evening, Burney!"
GEORGE. Oh!--Thanks.
BURNEY. I've put out the mistress's things, sir.
GEORGE. Ah!
BURNEY. Thank you, sir. [She withdraws.]
GEORGE. Damn!
He again goes to the curtained door, and passes through. PAYNTER,
coming in from the hall, announces: "General Sir Charles and Lady
Dedmond." SIR CHARLES is an upright, well- groomed,
grey-moustached, red-faced man of sixty-seven, with a keen eye for
molehills, and none at all for mountains. LADY DEDMOND has a
firm, thin face, full of capability and decision, not without kindliness;
and faintly weathered, as if she had faced many situations in many parts
of the world. She is fifty five.
PAYNTER withdraws.
SIR CHARLES. Hullo! Where are they? H'm!
As he speaks, GEORGE re-enters.
LADY DEDMOND. [Kissing