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_ ACT II - SCENE I
The kitchen of Ox Lease Farm. There are three doors. One opens to the staircase, one to the garden and a third into the back kitchen. At a table in the middle of the room EMILY stands ironing some net window curtains. JESSIE and ROBIN lean against the table watching her. By the open doorway, looking out on the garden, stands THOMAS, a mug of cider in one hand and a large slice of bread in the other. As he talks, he takes alternate drinks and bites.
EMILY.
[Speaking in a shrill, angry voice.]
Now Thomas, suppose you was to take that there bread a step further away and eat it in the garden, if eat it you must, instead of crumbling it all over my clean floor.
THOMAS.
Don't you be so testy, Emily. The dogs'll lick the crumbs up as clean as you like presently.
EMILY.
Dogs? I'd like to see the dog as'll shew its nose in here to-day when I've got it all cleaned up against the coming of fine young madam.
THOMAS.
[Finishing his bread and looking wistfully at his empty hand.]
The little maid'll take a brush and sweep up her daddy's crumbs, now, won't her?
EMILY.
I'll give it to any one who goes meddling in my brush cupboard now that I've just put all in order against the prying and nozzling of the good-for-nothing baggage what's coming along with your sister.
ROBIN.
What's baggage, Mother?
EMILY.
[Sharply.]
Never you mind. Get and take your elbow off my ironing sheet.
JESSIE.
[Looking at her father.]
I count as you'd like a piece more bread, Dad?
THOMAS.
Well, I don't say but 'twouldn't come amiss. 'Tis hungry work in th' hayfield. And us be to go without our dinners this day, isn't that so, Emily?
EMILY.
[Slamming down her iron on the stand.]
If I've told you once, I've told you twenty times, 'twas but the one pair of hands as I was gived at birth. Now, what have you got to say against that, Thomas?
THOMAS.
[Sheepishly.]
I'm sure I don't know.
EMILY.
And if so be as I'm to clean and wash and cook, and run, and wait, and scour, and mend, for them lazy London minxes, other folk must go without hot cooking at mid-day.
THOMAS.
[Faintly.]
'Twasn't nothing cooked, like. 'Twas a bit of bread as I did ask for.
JESSIE.
[Getting up.]
I'll get it for you, Dad. I know where the loaf bides and the knife too. I'll cut you, O such a large piece.
EMILY.
[Seizing her roughly by the hand.]
You'll do nothing of the sort. You'll take this here cold iron into Maggie and you'll bring back one that is hot. How am I to get these curtains finished and hung and all, by the time the dressed up parrots come sailing in, I'd like to know.
[JESSIE runs away with the iron.]
THOMAS.
[Setting down his mug and coming to the table.]
I'd leave the windows bare if it was me, Emily. The creeping rose do form the suitablest shade for they, to my thinking.
EMILY.
That shews how much you know about it, Thomas. No, take your hands from off my table. Do you think as I wants dirty thumbs shewing all over the clean net what I've washed and dried and ironed, and been a-messing about with since 'twas light?
THOMAS.
Now that's what I be trying for to say. There's no need for you to go and work yourself into the fidgets, Emily, because of little Clara coming back. Home's home. And 'twon't be neither the curtains nor the hot dinner as Clara will be thinking of when her steps into th' old place once more.
JESSIE.
[Running back with the hot iron which she sets down on the table.]
What will Aunt Clara be thinking of then, Dad?
THOMAS.
[Shy and abashed under a withering glance from EMILY who has taken up the iron and is slamming it down on the net.]
Her'll remember, very like, how 'twas when her left--some fourteen year ago. And her'll have her eyes on Gran'ma's chair, what's empty.
ROBIN.
I should be thinking of the hot fowl and sparrow grass what's for dinner.
THOMAS.
And her'll look up to th' old clock, and different things what's still in their places. The grand parts where she have been bred up will be forgot. 'Twill be only home as her'll think on.
EMILY.
I haven't patience to listen to such stuff.
THOMAS.
[After a pause.]
I count that 'tisn't likely as a young woman what's been left riches as Clara have, would choose to make her home along of such as we for always, like.
EMILY.
We have perches and plenty of them for barn door poultry, but when it comes to roosting spangled plumes and fancy fowls, no thank you, Thomas, I'm not going to do it.
ROBIN.
Do let us get and roost some fancy fowls, Mother.
JESSIE.
What are spangled plumes, Mother?
EMILY.
[Viciously.]
You'll see plenty of them presently.
ROBIN.
Will Aunt Clara bring the fowls along of she?
[A slight pause during which EMILY irons vigorously.]
EMILY.
[As she irons.]
Some folk have all the honey. It do trickle from the mouths of them and down to the ground.
ROBIN.
Has Aunt Clara got her mouth very sticky, then?
EMILY.
And there be others what are born to naught but crusts and the vinegar.
JESSIE.
Like you, Mother--Least, that's what Maggie said this morning.
EMILY.
What's that?
JESSIE.
That 'twas in the vinegar jar as your tongue had growed, Mother.
EMILY.
I'll learn that wench to keep her thoughts to herself if she can't fetch them out respectful like. [Shouting.] Mag, come you here this minute--what are you after now, I'd like to know, you ugly, idle piece of mischief?
[MAGGIE, wiping a plate comes from the back kitchen.]
MAGGIE.
Was you calling, mistress?
EMILY.
What's this you've got saying to Miss Jessie, I should like to know.
JESSIE.
[Running to MAGGIE and laying her hand on her arm.]
Dear Maggie, 'tis only what you did tell about poor mother's tongue being in the vinegar jar.
MAGGIE.
O Miss Jessie.
EMILY.
Hark you here, my girl--if 'twasn't hay time you should bundle up your rags and off with you this minute. But as 'tis awkward being short of a pair of hands just now, you'll bide a week or two and then you'll get outside of my door with no more character to you nor what I took you with.
THOMAS.
Come, come Emily. The girl's a good one for to work, and that she is.
EMILY.
Be quiet, Thomas. This is my business, and you'll please to keep your words till they're wanted.
MAGGIE.
O mistress, I didn't mean no harm, I didn't.
EMILY.
I don't want no words nor no tears neither.
MAGGIE.
[Beginning to cry loudly.]
I be the only girl as have stopped with you more nor a month, I be. T'others wouldn't bide a day, some of them.
EMILY.
Be quiet. Back to your work with you. And when the hay is all carried, off with you, ungrateful minx, to where you came from.
JESSIE.
O let us keep her always, Mother, she's kind.
ROBIN.
Don't you cry, Mag. I'll marry you when I'm a big man like Daddy.
THOMAS.
Harken to them, Emily! She's been a good maid to the children. I'd not part with any one so hasty, if 'twas me.
EMILY.
[Very angrily.]
When I want your opinion, Thomas, I'll ask for it. Suppose you was to go out and see after something which you do understand.
THOMAS.
O I'll go down to the field fast enough, I can tell you. 'Twas only being hungered as drove me into the hornets' nest, as you might say.
EMILY.
[Ironing fiercely.]
What's that?
THOMAS.
Nothing. I did only say as I was a-going back to the field when George do come home.
EMILY. There again. Did you ever know the man to be so slow before. I warrant as he have gone drinking or mischiefing down at the Spotted Cow instead of coming straight home with they chicken.
THOMAS.
Nay, nay. George is not the lad to do a thing like that. A quieter more well bred up lad nor George never trod in shoes.
EMILY
[Glancing at MAGGIE.]
What are you tossing your head like that for, Maggie? Please to recollect as you're a lazy, good-for-nothing little slut of a maid servant, and not a circus pony all decked out for the show.
JESSIE.
Maggie's fond of Georgie. And Georgie's kind to Mag.
MAGGIE.
[Fearfully.]
O don't, Miss Jessie, for goodness sake.
EMILY.
[Viciously.]
I'll soon put an end to anything in that quarter.
THOMAS.
Now, Emily--take it quiet. Why, we shall have Clara upon us before us knows where we are.
EMILY.
[Folding the curtains.]
I'll settle her too, if she comes before I'm ready for her.
ROBIN.
[Pointing through the open.]
There's George, coming with the basket.
[GEORGE comes into the room. He carefully rubs his feet on the mat as he enters. Then he advances to the table. MAGGIE dries her eyes with the back of her hand. JESSIE is standing with her arm in MAGGIE'S.]
EMILY.
Well, and where have you been all this while, I'd like to know?
GEORGE.
To Brook Farm, mam, and home.
EMILY.
You've been up to some mischief on the way, I warrant.
THOMAS.
Come, Emily.
[GEORGE looks calmly into EMILY'S face. Then his gaze travels leisurely round the room.
GEORGE.
I was kept waiting while they did pluck and dress the chicken.
EMILY.
[Lifting the cloth covering the basket, and looking within it.]
I'd best have gone myself. Of all the thick-headed men I ever did see, you're the thickest. Upon my word you are.
GEORGE.
What's wrong now, mistress?
EMILY.
'Taint chicken at all what you've been and fetched me.
GEORGE.
I'll be blowed if I do know what 'tis then.
EMILY.
If I'd been given a four arms and legs at birth same as th' horses, I'd have left a pair of them at home and gone and done the job myself, I would. And then you should see what I'd have brought back.
GEORGE.
You can't better what I've got here. From the weight it might be two fat capons. So it might.
EMILY.
[Seizing the basket roughly.]
Here, Mag, off into the pantry with them. A couple of skinny frogs from out the road ditch would have done as well. And you, Jess, upstairs with these clean curtains and lay them careful on the bed. I'll put them to the windows later.
THOMAS.
George, my boy, did you meet with any one on the way, like?
EMILY.
You'd best ask no questions if you don't want to be served with lies, Thomas.
GEORGE.
[Throwing a glance of disdain at EMILY.]
Miles Hooper and Farmer Jenner was taking the air 'long of one another in the wood, master.
THOMAS.
Miles Hooper and Luke a-taking of the air, and of a weekday morning!
GEORGE.
That they was, master. And they did stop I -
EMILY.
Ah, now you've got it, Thomas. Now we shall know why George was upon the road the best part of the day and me kept waiting for the chicken.
GEORGE.
[Steadily.]
Sunday clothes to the back of both of them. And, when was Miss Clara expected up at home.
THOMAS.
Ah, 'tis a fair commotion all over these parts already, I warrant. There wasn't nothing else spoke of in market last time, but how as sister Clara with all her money was to come home.
JESSIE.
[Coming back.]
I've laid the curtains on the bed, shall I gather some flowers and set them on the table, mother?
EMILY.
I'd like to see you! Flowers in the bedroom? I never heard tell of such senseless goings on. What next, I'd like to know?
GEORGE.
Miss Clara always did fill a mug of clover blooms and set it aside of her bed when her was a little thing--so high.
JESSIE.
Do you remember our fine aunt, then, Georgie?
GEORGE.
I remembers Miss Clara right enough.
EMILY.
Don't you flatter yourself, George, as such a coxsy piece of town goods will trouble herself to remember you.
THOMAS.
The little maid had a good enough heart to her afore she was took away from us.
JESSIE.
Do you think our aunt Clara has growed into a coxsy town lady, George?
GEORGE.
No, I do not, Miss Jessie.
EMILY.
[Beginning to stir about noisily as she sets the kitchen in order.]
Get off with you to the field, Thomas, can't you. I've had enough to do as 'tis without a great hulking man standing about and taking up all the room.
THOMAS.
Come, George, us'll clear out down to th' hay field, and snatch a bite as we do go.
GEORGE.
That's it, master.
EMILY.
[Calling angrily after them.]
There's no dinner for no one to-day, I tell you.
[THOMAS and GEORGE go out of the back kitchen door. EMILY begins putting the irons away, folding up the ironing sheet and setting the chairs back against the wall.]
[JESSIE and ROBIN, from their places at the table, watch her intently.]
EMILY.
[As she moves about.]
'Twouldn't be half the upset if the wench was coming by herself, but to have a hussy of a serving maid sticking about in the rooms along of us, is more nor I can stand.
[She begins violently to sweep up the hearth.]
[Steps are heard outside.]
JESSIE.
Hark, what's that, mother?
EMILY.
I'll give it to any one who wants to come in here.
JESSIE.
[Running to the open door.]
They're coming up the path. 'Tis our fine auntie and two grand gentlemen either side of she.
ROBIN.
[Running also to the door.]
O I want to look on her too.
EMILY.
[Putting the broom in a corner.]
'Tis no end to the vexation. But she'll have to wait on herself. I've no time to play the dancing bear. And that I've not.
[JOAN, between MILES HOOPER and LUKE JENNER, comes up to the open door.]
MILES.
[To Jessie.]
See here, my little maid, what'll you give Mister Hooper for bringing this pretty lady safe up to the farm?
JESSIE.
I know who 'tis you've brought. 'Tis my Aunt Clara.
LUKE.
You're a smart little wench, if ever there was one.
ROBIN.
I know who 'tis, too, 'cause of the spangled plumes in the bonnet of she. Mother said as there'd be some.
EMILY.
[Coming forward.]
Well, Clara, if 'twas by the morning coach as you did come, you're late. If 'twas by th' evening one, you're too soon by a good few hours.
MILES.
Having come by the morning coach, Miss Clara had the pleasant fancy to stroll here through the woodlands, Missis Spring.
LUKE.
Ah, and 'twas lost on the way as we did find her, like a strayed sheep.
MILES.
And ours has been the privilege to bring the fair wanderer safely home.
EMILY.
[Scornfully looking JOAN over from head to foot.]
Where's that serving wench of yours got to, Clara?
MILES.
Our young missy had a wish for solitude. She sent her maid on by another road.
EMILY.
The good-for-nothing hussy. I warrant as she have found something of mischief for her idle hands to do.
MILES.
If I may venture to say so, our Miss Clara is somewhat fatigued by her long stroll. London young ladies are very delicately framed, Missis Spring.
EMILY.
[Pointing ungraciously.]
There's chairs right in front of you.
[MILES and LUKE lead JOAN forward, placing her in an armchair with every attention. JOAN sinks into it, and, taking a little fan from the silken bag on her arm, begins to fan herself violently.]
EMILY.
[Watching her with fierce contempt.]
Maybe as you'd like my kitchen wench to come and do that for you, Clara, seeing as your fine maid is gadding about the high roads instead of minding what it concerns her to attend to.
JOAN.
[Faintly.]
O no, thank you. The day is rather warm--that's all.
EMILY.
Warm, I should think it was warm in under of that great white curtain.
JESSIE.
Aunt Clara, I'm Jessie.
JOAN.
Are you, my dear?
ROBIN.
And I'm Robin.
MILES.
Now, I wager, if you are both good little children, this pretty lady will give you each a kiss.
JOAN.
[Faintly.]
To be sure I will.
JESSIE.
Then you'll have to take off that white thing from your face. 'Tis like what mother do spread over the currant bushes to keep the birds from the fruit.
[JOAN slowly raises her veil, showing her face.]
JESSIE.
Shall I give you a kiss, Aunt?
EMILY.
I'd be careful if I was you, Jess. Fine ladies be brittle as fine china.
JESSIE.
O I'll kiss her very lightly, Mother.
[She goes up to JOAN and kisses her. ROBIN then reaches up his face and JOAN kisses him.]
ROBIN.
[Rubbing his mouth.]
The flour do come from Aunt same as it does from a new loaf.
MILES.
[To JOAN.]
You must pardon these ignorant little country brats, Miss Clara.
JOAN.
O there's nothing amiss, thank you.
EMILY.
Amiss, who said as there was? When folks what can afford to lodge at the inn do come down and fasten theirselves on the top of poor people, they must take things as they do find them and not start grumbling at the first set off.
LUKE.
There, there, Missis Spring. There wasn't naught said about grumbling. But Miss Clara have come a smartish long distance, and it behoves us all as she should find summat of a welcome at the end of her journey, like.
MILES.
[Aside to JOAN.]
How strange this country tongue must fall on your ears, Miss Clara!
JOAN.
I don't understand about half of what they say.
EMILY.
[Overhearing her.]
O, you don't, don't you. Well, Clara, I was always one for plain words, and I say 'tis a pity when folks do get above the position to which they was bred, and for all the fine satins and plumes upon you, the body what's covered by them belongs to Clara Spring, what's sister to Thomas. And all the world knows what Thomas is--A poor, mean spirited, humble born man with but two coats to the back of him, and with not a thought to the mind of him which is not foolishness. And I judge from by what they be in birth, and not by the bags of gold what have been left them by any old madams in their dotage. So now you see how I takes it all and you and me can start fair, like.
JOAN.
[To LUKE.]
O Mister--Mister Jenner, I feel so faint.
MILES.
[Taking her fan.]
Allow me.
[He begins to fan her.]
I assure you she means nothing by it. It's her way. You see, she knows no better.
LUKE.
I'd fetch out summat for her to eat if I was you, missis. 'Tis famished as the poor young maid must be.
EMILY.
She should have come when 'twas meal time then. I don't hold with bites nor drinks in between whiles.
JOAN.
O I'm dying for a glass of milk--or water would do as well.
MILES.
My dear young lady--anything to oblige.
[Turning to Jessie.]
Come, my little maid, see if you can't make yourself useful in bringing a tray of refreshment for your auntie. And you [turning to Robin] trot off and help sister.
EMILY.
Not if I know it. Stop where you are, Jess. Robin, you dare to move. If Clara wants to eat and drink I'm afeared she must wait till supper time.
ROBIN.
There be chicken and sparrow grass for supper, Aunt.
JESSIE.
And a great pie of gooseberries.
JOAN.
[Faintly.]
O I couldn't touch a mouthful of food, don't speak to me about it.
ROBIN.
I likes talking of dinner. After I've done eating of it, I likes next best to talk about it.
LUKE.
See here, missis. Let's have a glass of summat cool for Miss Clara.
EMILY.
[Calling angrily.]
Maggie, Maggie, where are you, you great lazy-boned donkey?
MAGGIE.
[Comes in from the back kitchen, her apron held to her eyes.]
Did you call me, mistress?
EMILY.
Get up a bucket of water from the well. Master's sister wants a drink.
MAGGIE.
[Between sobs.]
Shall I bring it in the bucket, or would the young lady like it in a jug?
EMILY.
[With exasperation.]
There's no end to the worriting that other folks do make.
JESSIE.
Let me go and help poor Maggie, mother.
ROBIN.
[To JOAN.]
Do you know what Maggie's crying for, Aunt Clara?
JOAN.
I'm sure I don't, little boy.
ROBIN.
'Tis because she's got to go. Mother's sent her off. 'Twas what she said of mother's tongue.
EMILY.
[Roughly taking hold of ROBIN and JESSIE.]
Come you along with me, you ill-behaved little varmints. 'Tis the back kitchen and the serving maid as is the properest place for such as you. I'll not have you bide 'mongst the company no longer.
[She goes out with the children and followed by MAGGIE.]
[Directly they have left the room JOAN, whose manner has been nervously shrinking, seems to recover herself and she assumes a languid, artificial air, badly imitating the ways of a lady of fashion.]
JOAN.
[Fanning herself with her handkerchief and her fan.]
Well, I never did meet with such goings on before.
MILES.
You and I know how people conduct themselves in London, Miss Clara. We must not expect to find the same polite ways down here.
LUKE.
Come now, 'tisn't so bad as all that with we. There baint many what has the tongue of mistress yonder.
JOAN.
I'm quite unused to such people.
LUKE.
And yet, Miss Clara, 'tisn't as though they were exactly strangers to you like.
JOAN.
They feel as good as strangers to me, any way.
MILES.
Ah, how well I understand that, Miss. 'Tisn't very often as we lay a length of fine silken by the side of unbleached woollen at my counters.
JOAN.
I could go through with it better perhaps, if I didn't feel so terrible faint and sinking.
LUKE.
[Going to the back kitchen door.]
Here, Maggie, stir yourself up a bit. The lady is near fainting, I do count.
JESSIE.
[Runs in with a tray on which is a jug of water and a glass.]
I'm bringing the drink for Aunt, Mr. Jenner. Maggie's crying ever so badly, and Mother's sent her upstairs to wash her face and put her hair tidy.
[JESSIE puts the tray on the table near to where JOAN is sitting. MILES HOOFER busies himself in pouring out a glass of water and in handing it with a great deal of exaggerated deference to JOAN.]
JOAN.
[Drinking.]
Such a coarse glass!
MILES.
Ah, you must let me send you up one from my place during your stay here. Who could expect a lady to drink from such a thing as that?
JOAN.
[Laying aside the glass.]
There's a taste of mould in the water too.
JESSIE.
It's fresh. Mother drawed it up from the well, she did.
JOAN.
[Looking disdainfully round on the room.]
Such a strange room. So very common.
LUKE.
Nay, you mustn't judge of the house by this. Don't you recollect the parlour yonder, with the stuffed birds and the chiney cupboard?
JOAN.
[Looking round again.]
Such an old-fashioned place as this I never did see. 'Tis a low sort of room too, no carpet on the boards nor cloth to the table, nor nothing elegant.
MILES.
Ah, we find the mansions in town very different to a country farm house, don't we Miss?
JOAN.
I should think we did, Mister Hooper. Why, look at that great old wooden chair by the hearth? Don't it look un-stylish, upon my word, with no cushions to it nor nothing.
JESSIE.
[Coming quite close to JOAN and looking straight into her face.]
That's great gran'ma's chair, what Dad said you'd be best pleased for to see.
[JOAN looks very confused and begins to fan herself hastily.]
JESSIE.
And th' old clock's another thing what Dad did say as you'd look upon.
JOAN.
O the old clock's well enough, to be sure.
JESSIE.
I did want to gather a nosegay of flowers to set in your bedroom, Aunt, but Mother, she said, no.
JOAN.
[Languidly.]
I must say I don't see any flowers blooming here that I should particular care about having in my apartment.
JESSIE.
And Father said as how you'd like to smell the blossoms in the garden. And Georgie told as how you did use to gather the clover blooms when you was a little girl and set them by you where you did sleep.
JOAN.
[Crossly.]
O run away, child, I'm tired to death with all this chatter. How would you like to be so pestered after such a travel over the rough country roads as I have had?
LUKE.
Now, my little maid, off you go. Take back the tray to Mother, and be careful as you don't break the glasses on it.
JESSIE.
[Taking up the tray.]
I'm off to play in the hayfield along of Robin, then.
[LUKE opens the back kitchen door for her and she goes out. Meanwhile MILES has taken up the fan and is fanning JOAN, who leans back in her chair with closed eyes and exhausted look.]
LUKE.
[Coming to her side and sitting down.]
'Twill seem more homelike when Thomas do come up from the field.
JOAN.
[Raising herself and looking at him.]
You mustn't trouble about me, Mister Jenner. I shall be quite comfortable presently.
[The back door opens and MAGGIE comes hurriedly in.]
MAGGIE.
Please, mistress, there be a young person a-coming through the rick yard.
JOAN.
[Nervously.]
A young person?
MAGGIE.
Mistress be at the gooseberries a-gathering of them, and the children be gone off to th' hay field.
MILES.
'Tis very likely your serving maid, dear Miss. Shall I fetch the young woman in to you?
JOAN.
My maid, did you say? My maid?
LUKE.
Ah, depend on it, 'tis she.
MAGGIE.
The young person do have all the looks of a serving wench, mistress. She be tramping over the yard with naught but a white handkerchief over the head of she and a poking into most of the styes and a-calling of the geese and poultry.
LUKE.
That's her, right enough. Bring her in, Mag.
JOAN.
[Agitatedly.]
No, no--I mean--I want to see her particular-- and alone. I'll go to meet her. You--gentlemen--
[MAGGIE goes slowly into the back kitchen.]
MILES.
[Placing a chair for JOAN.]
Delicate ladies should not venture out into the heat at this time of day.
JOAN.
[With sudden resolution ignoring the chair and going to the window.]
Then, do you two kind gentlemen take a stroll in the garden. I have need of the services of my--my young woman. But when she has put me in order after the dusty journey, I shall ask you to be good enough to come back and while away an hour for me in this sad place.
MILES.
[Fervently.]
Anything to oblige a lady, miss.
LUKE.
That's right. Us'll wait while you do lay aside your bonnet.
[MILES and LUKE go out through the garden door. MILES, turning to bow low before he disappears. JOAN stands as though distraught in the middle of the room. Through the open door of the back kitchen the voices of CLARA and MAGGIE are distinctly heard.]
CLARA.
Is no one at home then?
MAGGIE.
Ah, go you straight on into the kitchen, you'll find whom you be searching for in there. I'd take and shew you in myself only I'm wanted down to th' hayfield now.
CLARA.
Don't put yourself to any trouble about me. I know my way.
[CLARA comes into the kitchen. She has tied a white handkerchief over her head, and carries a bunch of wildflowers in her hands.]
CLARA.
Still in your cloak and bonnet! Why, I thought by now you would have unpacked our things and made yourself at home.
JOAN.
[Joining her hands supplicatingly and coming towards CLARA, speaking almost in a whisper.]
O mistress, you'll never guess what I've been and done. But 'twasn't all my fault at the commencement.
CLARA.
[Looking her over searchingly.]
You do look very disturbed, Joan, what has happened?
JOAN.
'Twas the fine bonnet and cloak, mam. 'Twas they as did it.
CLARA.
Did what?
JOAN.
Put the thought into my head, like.
CLARA.
What thought?
JOAN.
As how 'twould feel to be a real grand lady, like you, mistress.
CLARA.
What then, Joan?
JOAN.
So I began to pretend all to myself as how that I was one, mistress.
CLARA.
Come, tell me all.
JOAN.
And whilst I was sat down upon that fallen tree, and sort of pretending to myself, the two gentlemen came along.
CLARA.
What gentlemen?
JOAN.
Gentlemen as was after courting you, mistress.
CLARA.
Courting me?
JOAN.
Yes, and they commenced speaking so nice and respectful like.
CLARA.
Go on, Joan, don't be afraid.
JOAN.
It did seem to fall in with the game I was a-playing with myself. And then, before I did know how, 'twas they was both of them a-taking me for you, mam.
CLARA.
And did you not un-deceive them, Joan?
JOAN.
[Very ashamedly.]
No, mam.
CLARA.
You should have told them the truth about yourself at once.
JOAN.
O I know I should have, mistress. But there was something as held me back when I would have spoke the words.
CLARA.
I wonder what that could have been?
JOAN.
'Twas them being such very nice and kind gentlemen. And, O mistress, you'll not understand it, because you've told me many times as the heart within you have never been touched by love.
CLARA.
[Suddenly sitting down.]
And has yours been touched to-day, Joan, by love?
JOAN.
That it have, mistress. Love have struck at it heavily.
CLARA.
Through which of the gentlemen did it strike, Joan?
JOAN.
Through both. Leastways, 'tis Mister Jenner that my feelings do go out most quickly to, mistress. But 'tis Mister Hooper who do court the hardest and who has the greatest riches like.
CLARA.
Well, and what do you want me to do or to say now, Joan?
JOAN.
See here, mistress, I want you to give me a chance. They'll never stoop to wed me if they knows as I'm but a poor serving maid.
CLARA.
Your dressing up as a fine lady won't make you other than what you are, Joan.
JOAN.
Once let me get the fish in my net, mistress.
CLARA.
Are you proposing to catch the two, Joan?
JOAN.
I shall take the one as do offer first, mistress.
CLARA.
That'll be Mister Hooper, I should think.
JOAN.
I should go riding in my own chaise, mistress, if 'twas him.
CLARA.
But, Joan, either of these men would have to know the truth before there could be any marriage.
JOAN.
I knows that full well, mistress. But let one of them just offer hisself. By that time my heart and his would be so closely twined together like, 'twould take more nor such a little thing as my station being low to part us.
[CLARA sits very still for a few moments, looking straight before her, lost in thought. JOAN sinks on to a chair by the table as though suddenly tired out, and she begins to cry gently.
CLARA.
Listen, Joan. I'm one for the straight paths. I like to walk in open fields and over the bare heath. Only times come when one is driven to take to the ways which are set with bushes and with briars.
JOAN.
[Lifting her head and drying her eyes.]
O mistress, I feel to be asking summat as is too heavy for you to give.
CLARA.
But for a certain thing, I could never have lent myself to this acting game of yours, Joan.
JOAN.
No, mistress?
CLARA.
Only that, to-day, my heart too has gone from my own keeping.
JOAN.
O mistress, you don't mean to say as his lordship have followed us down already.
CLARA.
[Scornfully.]
His lordship! As if I should be stirred by him!
JOAN.
[Humbly.]
Who might it be, mistress, if I may ask?
CLARA.
'Tis one who would never look upon me with thoughts of love if I went to him as I am now, Joan.
JOAN.
I can't rightly understand you, mam.
CLARA.
My case is just the same as yours, Joan. You say that your fine gentlemen would not look upon a serving maid.
JOAN.
I'm certain of it, mistress.
CLARA.
And the man I--I love will never let his heart go out to mine with the heaviness of all these riches lying between us.
JOAN.
I count that gold do pave the way for most of us, mistress.
CLARA.
So for this once, I will leave the clear high road, Joan. And you and I will take a path that is set with thorns. Pray God they do not wound us past healing at the end of our travel.
JOAN.
O mistress, 'twill be a lightsome journey for me.
CLARA.
But the moment that you reach happiness, Joan, remember to confess.
JOAN.
There won't be nothing to fear then, mistress.
CLARA.
Make him love you for yourself, Joan. O we must each tie the heart of our true love so tightly to our own that naught shall ever be able to cut the bonds.
JOAN.
Yes, mistress, and I'm sure I'm very much obliged to you.
CLARA.
Ah, I am lending myself to all this, because I, too, have something to win or lose.
JOAN.
Where did you meet him, mistress?
CLARA.
I did not meet him. I stood on the high ground, and he passed below. His face was raised to the light, and I saw its look. I think my love for him has always lain asleep in my heart, Joan. But when he passed beneath me in the meadow, it awoke.
JOAN.
O mistress, what sort of an appearance has the gentleman?
CLARA.
I don't know how to answer you, Joan.
JOAN.
I count as it would take a rare, grand looking man for to put his lordship into the shadow, like.
CLARA.
You are right there, Joan. But now we must talk of your affairs. Your fine courtiers will be coming in presently and you must know how to receive them in a good way.
JOAN.
That's what do hamper me dreadful, my speech and other things. How would it be if you was to help me a little bit, like?
CLARA.
With all my heart.
JOAN.
How should I act so not to be found out, mistress?
CLARA.
You must speak little, and low. Do not show haste in your goings and comings. Put great care into your way of eating and drinking.
JOAN.
O that will be a fearsome hard task. What else?
CLARA.
You must be sisterly with Thomas.
JOAN.
I'd clean forgot him. I don't doubt but what he'll ferret out the truth in no time.
CLARA.
I don't think so. I was but a little child when I left him. He will not remember how I looked. And our colouring is alike, Joan.
JOAN.
'Tis the eating and drinking as do play most heavily upon my mind, mistress.
CLARA.
Then think of these words as you sit at table. Eat as though you were not hungry and drink as though there were no such thing as thirst. Let your hands move about your plate as if they were too tired to lift the knife and fork.
[JOAN, darts to the dresser--seizes up a plate with a knife and fork, places them on the table and sits down before them, pretending to cut up meat. CLARA watches her smilingly.]
JOAN.
[Absently, raising the knife to her mouth.]
How's that, mistress?
CLARA.
Not so, not so, Joan. That might betray you.
JOAN.
What, mistress?
CLARA.
'Tis the fork which journeys to the mouth, and the knife stops at home on the plate.
JOAN.
[Dispiritedly.]
'Tis almost more than I did reckon for when I started.
CLARA.
Well, we mustn't think of that now. We must hold up our spirits, you and I.
JOAN.
[Getting up and putting away the crockery.]
I'd best take off the bonnet and the cloak, mistress, hadn't I?
CLARA.
Yes, that you had. We will go upstairs together and I will help you change into another gown. Come quickly so that we may have plenty of time.
[They go towards the staircase door, CLARA leading the way. With her hand on the latch of the door she gives one look round the kitchen. Then with a sudden movement she goes up to the wooden armchair at the hearth and bends her head till her lips touch it, she then runs upstairs, followed by JOAN.] _
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