The Fourth Series Plays | Page 9

a praaper masterpiece. Well!
'Ave sister Mercy borrowed yure tongue? [TIBBY shakes her head] Aw,
she 'aven't. Well, maid?

TIBBY. Father wants six clay pipes, please.
GODLEIGH. 'E du, du 'ee? Yu tell yure father 'e can't 'ave more'n one,
not this avenin'. And 'ere 'tis. Hand up yure shillin'.
[TIBBY reaches up her hand, parts with the shilling, and receives a
long clay pipe and eleven pennies. In order to secure the coins in her
pinafore she places the clay pipe in her mouth. While she is still thus
engaged, MRS. BRADMERE enters the porch and comes in. TIBBY
curtsies stolidly.]
MRS. BRADMERE. Gracious, child! What are you doing here? And
what have you got in your mouth? Who is it? Tibby Jarland? [TIBBY
curtsies again] Take that thing out. And tell your father from me that if
I ever see you at the inn again I shall tread on his toes hard. Godleigh,
you know the law about children?
GODLEIGH. [Cocking his eye, and not at all abashed] Surely, m'm.
But she will come. Go away, my dear.
[TIBBY, never taking her eyes off MRS. BRADMERE, or the pipe
from her mouth, has backed stolidly to the door, and vanished.]
MRS. BRADMERE. [Eyeing GODLEIGH] Now, Godleigh, I've come
to talk to you. Half the scandal that goes about the village begins here.
[She holds up her finger to check expostulation] No, no--its no good.
You know the value of scandal to your business far too well.
GODLEIGH. Wi' all respect, m'm, I knows the vally of it to yourn, tu.
MRS. BRADMERE. What do you mean by that?
GODLEIGH. If there weren't no Rector's lady there widden' be no
notice taken o' scandal; an' if there weren't no notice taken, twidden be
scandal, to my thinkin'.
MRS. BRADMERE. [Winking out a grim little smile] Very well!
You've given me your views. Now for mine. There's a piece of scandal
going about that's got to be stopped, Godleigh. You turn the tap of it off
here, or we'll turn your tap off. You know me. See?
GODLEIGH. I shouldn' never presume, m'm, to know a lady.
MRS. BRADMERE. The Rector's quite determined, so is Sir Herbert.
Ordinary scandal's bad enough, but this touches the Church. While Mr.
Strangway remains curate here, there must be no talk about him and his
affairs.
GODLEIGH. [Cocking his eye] I was just thinkin' how to du it, m'm.
'Twid be a brave notion to putt the men in chokey, and slit the women's

tongues-like, same as they du in outlandish places, as I'm told.
MRS. BRADMERE. Don't talk nonsense, Godleigh; and mind what I
say, because I mean it.
GODLEIGH. Make yure mind aisy, m'm there'll be no
scandal-monkeyin' here wi' my permission.
[MRS. BRADMERE gives him a keen stare, but seeing him perfectly
grave, nods her head with approval.]
MRS. BRADMERE. Good! You know what's being said, of course?
GODLEIGH. [With respectful gravity] Yu'll pardon me, m'm, but ef an'
in case yu was goin' to tell me, there's a rule in this 'ouse: "No scandal
'ere!"
MRS. BRADMERE. [Twinkling grimly] You're too smart by half, my
man.
GODLEIGH. Aw fegs, no, m'm--child in yure 'ands.
MRS. BRADMERE. I wouldn't trust you a yard. Once more, Godleigh!
This is a Christian village, and we mean it to remain so. You look out
for yourself.
[The door opens to admit the farmers TRUSTAFORD and
BURLACOMBE. They doff their hats to MRS. BRADMERE, who,
after one more sharp look at GODLEIGH, moves towards the door.]
MRS. BRADMERE. Evening, Mr. Trustaford. [To BURLACOMBE]
Burlacombe, tell your wife that duck she sent up was in hard training.
[With one of her grim winks, and a nod, she goes.]
TRUSTAFORD. [Replacing a hat which is black, hard, and not very
new, on his long head, above a long face, clean-shaved but for little
whiskers] What's the old grey mare want, then? [With a horse-laugh]
'Er's lukin' awful wise!
GODLEIGH. [Enigmatically] Ah!
TRUSTAFORD. [Sitting on the bench dose to the bar] Drop o' whisky,
an' potash.
BURLACOMBE. [A taciturn, alien, yellowish man, in a worn soft hat]
What's wise, Godleigh? Drop o' cider.
GODLEIGH. Nuse? There's never no nuse in this 'ouse. Aw, no! Not
wi' my permission. [In imitation] This is a Christian village.
TRUSTAFORD. Thought the old grey mare seemed mighty busy. [To
BURLACOMBE] 'Tes rather quare about the curate's wife a-cumin'
motorin' this mornin'. Passed me wi' her face all smothered up in a veil,

goggles an' all. Haw, haw!
BURLACOMBE. Aye!
TRUSTAFORD. Off again she was in 'alf an hour. 'Er didn't give poor
old curate much of a chance, after six months.
GODLEIGH. Havin' an engagement elsewhere--No scandal, please,
gentlemen.
BURLACOMBE. [Acidly] Never asked to see my missis. Passed me in
the yard like a stone.