Bennett Arnold
The Honeymoon
Flora. No, we really settled nothing. Cedric alone settles that, of course. All questions relating to aeroplanes should be addressed to the head of the flying department and not to the firm.
Cedric. (Rising, with restrained savageness.) I tell you I shall do nothing whatever for a full month. (Exit, L.)
Charles. (Trying to break the extreme awkwardness caused by Cedric's behaviour, in a bantering but affectionate tone.) I suspect the fact is that the bones of a husband are doubly precious in her sight.
Mrs. R. Haslam. But you don't really think there is any special danger, do you, Flora dear?
Flora. Of course not. If I wasn't convinced that Cedric in his aeroplane is a great deal safer than Charlie in a motor-car, or Paderewski at the end of a concert, or a cabinet minister at a public meeting, should I have gone as far as marrying him?
Mrs. R. Haslam. Then, seeing how serious it is for the country, why —
Flora. My dear, you must ask Cedric. I don't interfere with business.
(Enter Cuthbert, back.)
Cuthbert. A Mr. Frampington, to see the Bishop, ma'am. I told him his Grace had gone, and now he asks to see either you or Mr. Haslam.
Mrs. R. Haslam. Mr. Frampington? Where is your master?
Cuthbert. I believe he's in the kitchen at the moment, ma'am.
Mrs. R. Haslam. Frampington?
Charles. Wasn't that the name of our young hopeful this morning?
Flora. (Brightening again.) The imitation curate? Of course it was!
Mrs. R. Haslam. But surely —
Cuthbert. He bears no resemblance to a curate, ma'am.
Flora. Then it is he! Oh! if it is, do let's see him! In private life he must be extremely interesting. (To Cuthbert.) Show him in, will you, please?
(Exit Cuthbert.)
Mrs. R. Haslam. Flora – really I don't know what's come over you all!
Flora. It seems to me that the curate has come over us all.
(Enter Cuthbert, and Frampington in tourist attire.)
(Exit Cuthbert.)
Frampington. (In a quite natural, easy tone.) We meet again. I'm so sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Haslam, but I'm in a slight difficulty, and I hoped to find the Bishop here.
Mrs. R. Haslam. The Bishop left a few minutes ago.
Flora. Won't you sit down? (Outraged glance from Mrs. R. Haslam. Frampington sits down calmly.) May one inquire what this slight difficulty is?
Frampington. (After a little hesitation.) I suppose the Bishop has explained everything?
Mrs. R. Haslam. So far as everything is capable of explanation, yes.
Frampington. I'm glad of that. It makes the situation so much easier. No doubt the Bishop gave you all the messages of apology and regret that I asked him to deliver on my behalf.
Flora. (To Mrs. Reach Haslam.) Did he?
Mrs. R. Haslam. No. He only spoke for himself.
Frampington. That was not nice of him.
Mrs. R. Haslam. He told us you were a gentleman —
Frampington. Generous!
Mrs. R. Haslam. And that you had promised to go to the police-station and give yourself up of your own accord.
Frampington. Quite correct. And as soon as I'd got something to eat I took a cab and went to Vine Street. Well, they refused to take me in.
Mrs. R. Haslam. Refused to take you in!
Frampington. Wouldn't even take my name.
Mrs. R. Haslam. But did you tell them clearly what you'd done – your crime?
Frampington. I was most explicit.
Flora. I suppose it is a crime.
Frampington. Oh, yes! It's a crime all right. As far as the Bishop and I could make out, it means anything up to three years; but I must say the episcopal library at Chelmsford isn't very strong in criminal law. It seems to deal chiefly with vegetarianism and drunkenness.
Mrs. R. Haslam. (Brushing all this aside.) I may be dull, Mr. —
Frampington. Frampington.
Mrs. R. Haslam. But I don't yet understand why you've come here.
Flora. Mr. Frampington was going to explain how it was the police-station was so inhospitable.
Frampington. The Inspector wouldn't believe my story. He thought I was a practical joker.
Flora. And don't you think you are?
Frampington. (Judicially.) Depends how one looks at it. I feel sure I should have been more convincing if I hadn't changed my clothes. But the Bishop insisted on me doing that, and so I put on the only suit I had. And then I found I'd chosen a bad night. Owing to these vivisection riots, they were doing a big business in medical students at Vine Street. In fact, my suspicion is that all their cells were engaged. And there's another thing – I don't think I ought to have gone to Vine Street. Vine Street specialises in what you may call West End cases – pocket-picking, confidence tricks, murder, aristocratic inebriety, and so on. It runs in a groove. But then Vine Street was the only police-station that I was personally acquainted with – a youthful souvenir of Boatrace night – and so I went there. It was a mistake.
Mrs. R. Haslam. I'm afraid you didn't insist.
Frampington. Yes. I did. I insisted so much that at last the Inspector got cross and said that if I didn't clear he should lock me up.
Mrs. R. Haslam. And wasn't that enough for you, my man?
Frampington. (Starting slightly at the appellation.) It was too much. I naturally wanted to be locked up for the right thing. The truth is the Inspector thought I was drunk – probably because I was so calm. One of the constables said I – er – smelt of drink.
Mrs. R. Haslam. And did you?
Frampington. Certainly not. Beyond half-a-pint of Bordeaux at the Ritz, I assure you I had had nothing whatever.
Flora. The Ritz?
Frampington. Why not, madam?
Flora. As you say, why not!
Frampington. It was handy for Vine Street, and this being my last night of freedom, you see – As a novelist, Mrs. Haslam, you will understand I had a natural desire to do myself well.
Mrs. R. Haslam. The only thing I understand is that you seem to have come here for the pleasure of hearing yourself talk.
Frampington. (Rising simply.) I beg your pardon. I came here to ask the Bishop to accompany me to the police-station as corroborative evidence. When your servant told me he wasn't here, the idea occurred to me that perhaps some member of your family wouldn't mind going with me – just to identify me.
Mrs. R. Haslam. Charlie, you'd better go on your way to the office.
Charles. That's all very well, but —
Frampington. It would be very good of you. But I really think we ought to try another police-station. Bow Street would be better – more classical – if it isn't too much off your beat.
Flora. Why don't you go to Liverpool Street?
Frampington. But Liverpool Street is not a police-station.
Flora. No. But it's a railway station. Chelmsford isn't the only place it leads to. There's Harwich, for instance, the continent – (Smiles.)
Mrs. R. Haslam. (In a low voice.) Really, Flora! Christianity can be carried too far.
Frampington. (To Flora.) I should be caught. And, honestly, I prefer the new experience which lies before me. It can't last long. And new experiences are my hobby.
Flora. But this is serious. You mayn't get a long sentence, but when you're discharged from prison you'll be a social outcast.
Frampington. Oh, no, I shan't. In two years time I come into twenty thousand pounds.
Flora. I see.
Frampington. (To Charles.) May I count on your help? (Bowing adieu to Mrs. R. Haslam.) Madam. (To Flora.) Mrs. Lloyd, your sympathy is very remarkable, and I appreciate it. Please accept my sincerest apologies for any temporary inconvenience I may have caused you. I assure you, this morning I didn't realise until afterwards the awful seriousness of what I'd done.
Flora. Neither did I. Well, good luck! (Shakes hands with him to the deep astonishment of Mrs. Reach Haslam.)
(Frampington goes towards door. Charles uncertainly goes in the same direction, then stops.)
Charles. (To Frampington.) Just wait in the hall a moment, will you?
Frampington. Certainly. (Exit back.)
Mrs. R. Haslam. (Turning to Flora.) Well, it's not often that I'm left speechless —
Charles. Look here, mater. You send me off with this lunatic, but it doesn't seem to have occurred to you that I've had no dinner. I haven't even had time to wash.
Mrs. R. Haslam. (Before he has finished.) Why did you shake hands with him, dear? You were almost effusive.
Flora. I felt almost effusive.
Charles. But don't you think he's off his nut?
Flora. Whatever he is, he's saved me from something that's rather awful to think about.
Mrs. R. Haslam. He's what?
Flora. I may as well tell you now – Cedric and I aren't going to get married to-morrow.
Mrs. R. Haslam. Not going to – (stops). But you've just arranged with the Bishop!
Flora. I know. But that was simply my cowardice. The truth is I hadn't the heart to tell him. I felt that we could express ourselves more comfortably in a telegram than by word of mouth.
Mrs. R. Haslam. We! But – but what's wrong with to-morrow, Flora?
Flora. Nothing. It's no worse than any other day. Only we aren't going to get married at all.
Mrs. R. Haslam. But you are married – practically. I mean —
Flora. (Shakes her head.) Not even theoretically.
Mrs. R. Haslam. (With a certain dignified appeal.) Flora, I'm not as young as you are. I'm a hard working woman. My work is terribly in arrear. But I've never broken a contract yet, and I must finish to-night that article of mine for "Harper's" on "A Remedy for the Decline of the Birthrate in London Society." The subject is delicate for a popular magazine, and I need to have my mind free. May I beg you to tell me exactly what you mean, without being too witty?
Flora. I'm really very sorry. Very sorry. If I'm witty, I honestly assure you it's an oversight. All I can tell you is that Cedric and I have had an extremely serious difference of opinion, on a vital matter, and there's no hope of our views being reconciled, and so we aren't going to get married.
Charles. Not really!
Flora. Yes.
Mrs. R. Haslam. (Half to herself.) And this is all you can find to do, to help me with my article! (To Flora.) I suppose I must imitate your calmness.
Flora. (Winningly.) Oh! please do.
Mrs. R. Haslam. When did you and Cedric settle this?
Flora. We haven't settled it. Have we had a moment alone together since we left Pixton? I've settled it. One person can settle these things.
Mrs. R. Haslam. Do you mean to say that Cedric doesn't know what you're telling me?
Flora. Not unless he's listening behind the door. I inform you before anyone.
Mrs. R. Haslam. Of course father and I both noticed that you were far from being yourselves. But we put it down to the shock and disappointment.
Flora. To the Frampington accident? Oh, no! A Frampington accident might happen to any unmarried couple. I'm afraid our gloom was caused by nothing but a terrible fear.
Mrs. R. Haslam. Terrible fear?
Flora. Terrible fear lest neither of us would have the audacity to profit by Mr. Frampington's revelation.
Mrs. R. Haslam. Audacity! Your audacity astounds me.
Flora. Yes, it rather startles even me. Now, will you mind telling Cedric?
Mrs. R. Haslam. I! (Looks at her. Then exit, L.)
Flora. Are you also struck dumb?
Charles. I suppose the kick-up was about – Snowdon versus honeymoon.
Flora. Charlie, how penetrating you are, really! And you put it in a nutshell.
Charles. Well, when we burst into that hotel this morning I could have sworn something was wrong. Don't you remember I enquired what was the matter? And just now when I was asking Rick what he meant to do, it didn't want any very powerful penetration to see that there must have been a hades of a rumpus between him and you.
Flora. (Puzzlingly.) Oh! Didn't it? And what's your opinion? Do you think Snowdon ought to win?
Charles. Well, it's fiendishly important.
Flora. I know. But don't you think a honeymoon's somehow more important?
Charles. Some honeymoons might be.
Flora. What should you have done in Cedric's place?
Charles. But look here, Flo, he has given way, you know.
Flora. Yes, but against his judgment.
Charles. Well, he couldn't help that.
Flora. You're wrong, Charlie.
Charles. Am I?
Flora. Couldn't help it? If Cedric can't control his judgment better than that, in a serious matter, at the very start of the marriage, so much the worse for him and for me.
Charles. Perhaps so.
Flora. Charlie, there are some things that you understand better than Cedric.
Charles. That's what I always say, but no one believes me.
Flora. It's true. Do you know I'm simply shaking?
Charles. Fright? (Flora nods.) I can believe you are, but nobody'd guess it.
(Half-enter Cedric, L.)
Cedric. (Stopping at half-opened door. To somebody outside the room.) What's that you say? (Exit again, leaving door ajar.)
Flora. You'd better go. Don't forget the imitation curate's waiting for you.
Charles. Frizzle the imitation curate.
Flora. You'll be in the way here – don't you see?
Charles. But you're sending me off just at the interesting part. And you'll all be gone to bed before I get back from the office.
Flora. Yes, but I hope we shall all still be alive to-morrow. Now – there's a dear, before Cedric comes.
Charles. But – is it really serious? (Flora nods.) Then we shan't have to go to Chelmsford to-morrow? (Flora shakes her head.) Nor any other day? (Flora shakes her head. Charles moves reluctantly towards the door.) Well, I can't realise it, and that's flat. I say —
Flora. Yes?
Charles. Would you mind telling father or mother to see that my supper is set for me in the garden to-night? And something solid, too!
(Enter Cedric.)
Flora. I will.
(Exit Charles, back.)
Flora. I see your mother's told you. Well, what can I say to you?
Cedric. (Sitting down.) You might congratulate me on the way I'm keeping calm under stress.
Flora. But why do you come in like this and look at me like this?
Cedric. Idle curiosity! Having received the news from the mater, I was absurdly curious to hear any remarks you might have to make to me. So I came in – like this.
Flora. Cedric, I did it the best way I could. I thought I would imitate the blandness of the sham curate. You haven't seen him to-night, but I may tell you he carries blandness further than it has ever been carried before… I was afraid if I didn't do it at once it might never be done. I could see the time going on and going on, and me preparing myself to do this thing in a nice, kind, tactful, proper way, exactly as it should be done – and never doing it – never beginning to do it! And at last finding myself at Chelmsford to-morrow, and hypnotised by your mother and the Bishop. Cedric, I'm sure it's a mistake to prepare to do a thing like this, leading up to it, and so on. The best plan is to let it go off with a frightful bang, anyhow, as I've done! Then the worst happens at the start instead of at the finish.
Cedric. I quite see the argument.
Flora. (With a nod of the head towards the door, L.) You've told her the reason?
Cedric. She'd half guessed it. I made it seem as plausible as I could, in my taciturn way. But you know it would need a course of lectures to explain it properly.
Flora. I suppose I ought to depart hence. Where is your mother now?
Cedric. She's briefly stating the facts to the head of the family.
Flora. Cedric, don't you feel as if I'd lifted an enormous weight off your chest? Candidly!
Cedric. No; but I feel as if we'd been sitting all day in a stuffy railway carriage with a window that wouldn't open, and there'd been a collision that had pitched us clean through it. I've got oxygen, but I'm dashed if I can feel my legs.
Flora. My dear Cedric, if you were seriously injured you couldn't talk like that.
(Enter, L., during the last words, Mrs. Reach Haslam and Mr. Reach Haslam, very solemn.)
Mrs. R. Haslam. Has Charlie gone?
Flora. Yes. By the way, he wants his supper set in the garden – he asked me to tell you.
Mrs. R. Haslam. Thank you.
Flora. Something solid, he said.
Mrs. R. Haslam. (Sitting down.) Cedric, I wish your father to hear for himself exactly what the situation is. I naturally turn to him and leave everything to him… Now, father.
Mr. R. Haslam. So far as I've gathered, there seems to be some slight difficulty as to dates. To-day's the 20th – to-morrow will be the 21st (looking at date calendar). Yes, the 21st. Flora thinks the honeymoon ought to end on the 21st prox., whereas Cedric thinks the honeymoon ought to end in about ten days' time, say 1st prox. The difference of opinion (ironical stress) on this highly important matter, this fundamental matter, is final. Hence Flora has absolutely decided to break off the marriage.
Flora. That's it.
Mr. R. Haslam. Nothing could be simpler.
Mrs. R. Haslam. Flora, how can you sit there and trifle with our deepest feelings, in this utterly cynical manner?
Flora. (Persuasively.) I hope we aren't going to converse as if we were characters in a powerful novel of modern society. This is real life, you know, let's talk as if we were real people – do you mind?
Mrs. R. Haslam. Personally, I am not aware of being unreal. But you seem to be unaware that you are playing with tragic things.
Flora. As I told Cedric in the first act —
Mrs. R. Haslam. (Staggered beyond measure.) In the first act!
Flora. My dear. I'm only trying to fall in with your wish to turn this affair into a tragedy. If it is a tragedy, the first act occurred this morning. As I told Cedric this morning, we've stumbled across a question of vital principle. Is our marriage to be the most important thing in our lives, or isn't it? If it is, then nothing less than an earthquake could possibly disturb the honeymoon, because I suppose you'll admit the honeymoon is the most urgent part of matrimony. If our marriage is not to be the most important thing in our lives – all right! That's a point of view that I can understand; only – I don't want to get married. And I won't! (Pause.)
Mrs. R. Haslam. Cedric, why don't you speak?
Cedric. Nothing to say.
Mrs. R. Haslam. Your silence is excessive.
Flora. (Still persuasively.) We solemnly arrange our honeymoon. Then Cedric happens to see a newspaper and he as good as says, "Here's something more important than our honeymoon. Our honeymoon must give way to this." And after all, this terrific something is nothing whatever but a purely business matter – something to do with the works.
Mrs. R. Haslam. Something to do with England, with Cedric's career, with Cedric's duty.
Flora. (Turning to Mr. Reach Haslam.) Supposing Cedric one day said he couldn't attend his father's funeral because his career called him elsewhere, because England wanted him, what should you say?
Mr. R. Haslam. I probably shouldn't open my mouth.
Mrs. R. Haslam. A funeral is different —
Flora. It is. But I can't help thinking that if circumstances oughtn't to prevent a man from going to a funeral, they oughtn't to prevent him from going to his own honeymoon.
Cedric. I hope you won't lose sight of the fact that I gave way to you absolutely about five hours ago.
Mr. R. Haslam. That's the trouble.
Mrs. R. Haslam. Father!
Mr. R. Haslam. Yes, that's the trouble, because his giving way to her is a proof that he didn't share her views. What Flora objects to in Cedric is not what he does, but what he thinks. She seems to me to have no use for free-thinking in a husband.
Flora. I won't argue any further.
Mrs. R. Haslam. But why not? Surely that is unreasonable.
Flora. Because in an argument I always begin rather well, but in the end I'm apt to get beaten. So I just stop, especially when I know I'm right. I'm a short distance woman. All I say is – can you imagine me —me, running off to Ostend with a man who had sacrificed his career, and Snowdon, and all England, unwillingly, in order to go … what gay little suppers we should have together!
Mrs. R. Haslam. One day, perhaps when it's too late, you'll realise that a wife's first duty, and therefore her greatest joy, is to help her husband. I know I realised it, at once. When I was married, Reach was only earning three hundred a year; he was a solicitor's managing clerk – weren't you, father? I said to myself that I ought to try to help him, and so I began to write. And as a wife, I've been doing my best to help him ever since. After ten years I thought it advisable for him to give up the law. How much did I pay income-tax on last year, dear?
Mr. R. Haslam. Nineteen thousand four hundred pounds.
Mrs. R. Haslam. I don't boast, but you see what comes of trying to do one's wifely duty!
Flora. Some women can do nothing but earn money. (Cedric begins playing mechanically with an object on the table.) I can only spend it. Two different talents! If I had a hundred pounds to throw away at this moment, I know what I should spend it on – (A pause. She looks round; exerting all her wayward charm.) Come, why doesn't some one ask me what I should spend it on?
Mrs. R. Haslam. (Gloomily perfunctory.) What should you spend it on?
Flora. I should erect a statue to Mr. Frampington. It would be a good thing if there were a few more Frampingtons about, just to give people who've got as far as the vestry a chance of reconsidering their position.
Mrs. R. Haslam. Upon my word, Flora (cuttingly), one would say, from your sparkling wit, that you were quite in high spirits over the situation.
Flora. Well, my dear, in one way I could cry my eyes out, but in another I am rather uplifted when I think of what Mr. Frampington has saved us from.
Mrs. R. Haslam. Saved you from! (Very courteously and quietly.) Really, I should have thought that any woman would have been more than a little flattered at the prospect of marrying into the Haslam family, of being the wife of Cedric. No house in London is more sought after than ours. It isn't too much to say that Cedric is now one of the most celebrated men in England —
Cedric. (Crossly.) Look here, mater – (He keeps his head down; he is still playing with the object on the table.)
Mr. R. Haslam. (Sharply.) Cedric! (Mrs. Reach Haslam looks at her husband, as if expecting him majestically to reprove his son.) I wish you'd play with something else for a change.
Mrs. R. Haslam. I speak kindly, but I speak plainly, and I'm not ashamed of doing so. I say one of the most celebrated men in England. Indeed, it wouldn't surprise me to learn that among the masses of the people Cedric is better known even than I am myself.
Cedric. Mater, I'm off!
Mr. R. Haslam. (Severely to him.) You'll kindly stay where you are. There are times when one ought to be frank. (Still very courteously and quietly to Flora.) You know I was not at first altogether in favour of this marriage – not what could be described as uncontrollably enthusiastic about it. I have appreciated your excellent qualities, but —
Flora. (Smiling.) Please don't expose me. Comfort yourself with the thought of what Mr. Frampington has saved you from.
(Mr. Reach Haslam rises softly and goes towards door, back.)
Mrs. R. Haslam. Where are you going, father?
Mr. R. Haslam. I thought I'd just make sure about Charlie's supper, before it slipped my memory. (Exit back.)