Fanny and the Servant Problem [13]
starve than ever go back to. And here I am, plumped down in the midst of them again--for life! [Honoria Bennet, the "still-room" maid, has entered. She is a pert young minx of about Fanny's own age.] What is is? What is it?
HONORIA. Merely passing through. Sorry to have excited your ladyship. [Goes into dressing-room.]
FANNY. My cousin Honoria. They've sent her up to keep an eye upon me. Little cat! [She takes her handkerchief, drapes it over the keyhole of the dressing-room door.]
NEWTE [at sight of Honoria he has jumped up and hastily hidden his cigar behind him]. What are you going to do?
FANNY [she seats herself and suggests to him the writing-chair]. Hear from you--first of all--exactly what you told Vernon.
NEWTE [sitting]. About you?
FANNY [nods]. About me--and my family.
NEWTE. Well--couldn't tell him much, of course. Wasn't much to tell.
FANNY. I want what you did tell.
NEWTE. I told him that your late father was a musician.
FANNY. Yes.
NEWTE. Had been unfortunate. Didn't go into particulars. Didn't seem to be any need for it. That your mother had died when you were still only a girl and that you had gone to live with relatives. [He looks for approval.]
FANNY. Yes.
NEWTE. That you hadn't got on well with them--artistic temperament, all that sort of thing--that, in consequence, you had appealed to your father's old theatrical friends; and that they--that they, having regard to your talent--and beauty -
FANNY. Thank you.
NEWTE. Had decided that the best thing you could do was to go upon the stage. [He finishes, tolerably well pleased with himself.]
FANNY. That's all right. Very good indeed. What else?
NEWTE [after an uncomfortable pause]. Well, that's about all I knew.
FANNY. Yes, but what did you TELL him?
NEWTE. Well, of course, I had to tell him something. A man doesn't marry without knowing just a little about his wife's connections. Wouldn't be reasonable to expect him. You'd never told me anything-- never would; except that you'd liked to have boiled the lot. What was I to do? [He is playing with a quill pen he has picked up.]
FANNY [she takes it from him]. What DID you do?
NEWTE [with fine frankness]. I did the best I could for you, old girl, and he was very nice about it. Said it was better than he'd expected, and that I'd made him very happy--very happy indeed.
FANNY [she leans across, puts her hand on his]. You're a dear, good fellow, George--always have been. I wouldn't plague you only it is absolutely necessary I should know--exactly what you did tell him.
NEWTE [a little sulkily]. I told him that your uncle was a bishop.
FANNY [sits back--staring at him]. A what?
NEWTE. A bishop. Bishop of Waiapu, New Zealand.
FANNY. Why New Zealand?
NEWTE. Why not? Had to be somewhere. Didn't want him Archbishop of Canterbury, did you?
FANNY. Did he believe it?
NEWTE. Shouldn't have told him had there been any fear that he wouldn't.
FANNY. I see. Any other swell relations of mine knocking about?
NEWTE. One--a judge of the Supreme Court in Ohio. Same name, anyhow, O'Gorman. Thought I'd make him a cousin of yours. I've always remembered him. Met him when I was over there in ninety- eight--damn him!
A silence.
FANNY [she rises]. Well, nothing else for it! Got to tell him it was all a pack of lies. Not blaming you, old boy--my fault. Didn't know he was going to ask any questions, or I'd have told him myself. Bit of bad luck, that's all.
NEWTE. Why must you tell him? Only upset him.
FANNY. It's either my telling him or leaving it for them to do. You know me, George. How long do you see me being bossed and bullied by my own servants? Besides, it's bound to come out in any case.
NEWTE [he rises. Kindly but firmly he puts her back into her chair. Then pacing to and fro with his hands mostly in his trousers pockets, he talks]. Now, you listen to me, old girl. I've been your business manager ever since you started in. I've never made a mistake before-
HONORIA. Merely passing through. Sorry to have excited your ladyship. [Goes into dressing-room.]
FANNY. My cousin Honoria. They've sent her up to keep an eye upon me. Little cat! [She takes her handkerchief, drapes it over the keyhole of the dressing-room door.]
NEWTE [at sight of Honoria he has jumped up and hastily hidden his cigar behind him]. What are you going to do?
FANNY [she seats herself and suggests to him the writing-chair]. Hear from you--first of all--exactly what you told Vernon.
NEWTE [sitting]. About you?
FANNY [nods]. About me--and my family.
NEWTE. Well--couldn't tell him much, of course. Wasn't much to tell.
FANNY. I want what you did tell.
NEWTE. I told him that your late father was a musician.
FANNY. Yes.
NEWTE. Had been unfortunate. Didn't go into particulars. Didn't seem to be any need for it. That your mother had died when you were still only a girl and that you had gone to live with relatives. [He looks for approval.]
FANNY. Yes.
NEWTE. That you hadn't got on well with them--artistic temperament, all that sort of thing--that, in consequence, you had appealed to your father's old theatrical friends; and that they--that they, having regard to your talent--and beauty -
FANNY. Thank you.
NEWTE. Had decided that the best thing you could do was to go upon the stage. [He finishes, tolerably well pleased with himself.]
FANNY. That's all right. Very good indeed. What else?
NEWTE [after an uncomfortable pause]. Well, that's about all I knew.
FANNY. Yes, but what did you TELL him?
NEWTE. Well, of course, I had to tell him something. A man doesn't marry without knowing just a little about his wife's connections. Wouldn't be reasonable to expect him. You'd never told me anything-- never would; except that you'd liked to have boiled the lot. What was I to do? [He is playing with a quill pen he has picked up.]
FANNY [she takes it from him]. What DID you do?
NEWTE [with fine frankness]. I did the best I could for you, old girl, and he was very nice about it. Said it was better than he'd expected, and that I'd made him very happy--very happy indeed.
FANNY [she leans across, puts her hand on his]. You're a dear, good fellow, George--always have been. I wouldn't plague you only it is absolutely necessary I should know--exactly what you did tell him.
NEWTE [a little sulkily]. I told him that your uncle was a bishop.
FANNY [sits back--staring at him]. A what?
NEWTE. A bishop. Bishop of Waiapu, New Zealand.
FANNY. Why New Zealand?
NEWTE. Why not? Had to be somewhere. Didn't want him Archbishop of Canterbury, did you?
FANNY. Did he believe it?
NEWTE. Shouldn't have told him had there been any fear that he wouldn't.
FANNY. I see. Any other swell relations of mine knocking about?
NEWTE. One--a judge of the Supreme Court in Ohio. Same name, anyhow, O'Gorman. Thought I'd make him a cousin of yours. I've always remembered him. Met him when I was over there in ninety- eight--damn him!
A silence.
FANNY [she rises]. Well, nothing else for it! Got to tell him it was all a pack of lies. Not blaming you, old boy--my fault. Didn't know he was going to ask any questions, or I'd have told him myself. Bit of bad luck, that's all.
NEWTE. Why must you tell him? Only upset him.
FANNY. It's either my telling him or leaving it for them to do. You know me, George. How long do you see me being bossed and bullied by my own servants? Besides, it's bound to come out in any case.
NEWTE [he rises. Kindly but firmly he puts her back into her chair. Then pacing to and fro with his hands mostly in his trousers pockets, he talks]. Now, you listen to me, old girl. I've been your business manager ever since you started in. I've never made a mistake before-