Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (2015 page)

Mar.
Shut out from your husband’s confidence? Resigned to your married life? Oh, my darling, I had hoped for something better than this!

Laura (bitterly).
Nothing better was to be hoped, Marian. My future and Walter’s future ended on the day when you told him he must go.

Mar. (stopping her).
Laura! Laura! you must
not
think of Walter now!

Laura (passionately).
Say I must
not
live! Say I must have a stone in the place of a heart! Don’t say I mustn’t think of him. You are a woman — you know I must. My thoughts are my own!
(She suddenly throws her arms round
MARIAN’S
neck.)
Oh, Marian, it’s an innocent interest, a sisterly interest, I feel in him now! Have you heard from him? I don’t ask if he is happy — I only ask if you have heard from him?

Mar.
Promise me this shall be the first and last time you speak of him!

Laura (sadly).
Yes.

Mar.
He has tried to obtain the post of draughtsman to a foreign expedition, and has failed. He has asked for my interest to help him in obtaining some other employment out of England. I am exerting my interest. I can tell you no more.

Laura (to herself).
Out of England! Far, far away from me. Ah, I understand him!

Mar. (changing the subject).
Come! you must have something to tell me since we parted. How did the time pass in the Isle of Wight?

Laura (absently).
We had some pleasant sailing. A friend of Sir Percival’s lent him a yacht.

Mar. (aside). Sir
Percival!
(To
LAURA.) Did you meet with any friends of ours?

Laura.
One or two.

Mar.
Any news?

Laura.
None worth repeating.

Mar.
No news of Anne Catherick?

Laura (rousing herself, and showing some interest).
The very question I was going to ask you! Have you heard nothing?

Mar.
Nothing whatever.

Laura.
Isn’t it strange? I wrote to the post-office, Carlisle. My letter remains unclaimed. You went to Carlisle to inquire, and nothing came of it. Even the people at the asylum have failed to find a trace of her since. What does it mean?

Mar.
Somebody must be interested in concealing her. I can think of no better explanation than that.

Laura (whispering).
You don’t suspect Sir Percival —
 
—

Mar.
Certainly not! The proprietor of the asylum — a perfectly respectable man — certified that the poor creature was mad. Mrs. Catherick declared Sir Percival’s interest in her daughter to be a purely charitable interest, and Sir Percival’s conduct in placing Anne in the asylum to be such as to merit her sincerest gratitude. Your husband’s innocence in that matter was established, Laura, or you would never have been his wife.

Laura (thoughtfully).
Somebody interested in concealing her? Who can the person be?

Mar.
Patience, my dear! Time will show.

(FOSCO
and
MADAME FOSCO
enter the drawing-room and approach the table on which the birdcage is placed.
FOSCO
addresses the birds.
LAURA
starts and draws
MARIAN
aside at the first sound of his voice.)

Fosco.
Ha! my small chirruping children, my pretty little feathered family. Are you awake still? Fie! fie! my babies. Go to bed! go to bed!

Laura.
Come this way, Marian. Don’t let the count see us!

Mar.
Why not?

Laura.
I hate him!

Fosco (to the birds).
Won’t you go to sleep? Come out then, my pret-pret-pretties, and perform for Madame Fosco.
(He opens the cage, and takes out two of the birds.)
Now go up-stairs, one at a time!
(The birds hop up the outstretched fingers of one of his hands, and perch together on his thumb.)
Now sing to Madame Fosco — sing! sing! sing! — till you burst your throats!
(The birds sing.
FOSCO
applauds them as if he was at the opera.)
Bravi! bra-bra-bra! Now kiss your good papa!
(He lifts the birds’ beaks to his lips.)
Now go and pay your visit to Madame Fosco — a visit of affection to good mamma!

(He makes the birds repeat their performances on
MADAME FOSCO’S
fingers, while the dialogue proceeds between
LAURA
and
MARIAN.
The birds end by perching at the word of command on
MADAME FOSCO’S
head. FOSCO’S gestures show the interest of a child in the exhibition.)

Laura.
Odious old wretch! Do you hear him, Marian, with his canaries? Those birds are imps — and the count is the demon who commands them.

Mar.
Hush! hush!

Laura.
I can’t endure the count. He has come here — you may rely upon it — about those money difficulties that I spoke of just now.

Mar.
My dear! to-morrow is the first of September. Isn’t it far more likely Count Fosco has come here for the shooting?

Laura.
Not he! He has just taken a furnished house in St. John’s Wood. I heard him say to Sir Percival that it was very inconvenient to him to leave London at this time. There are strange stories afloat, Marian, about the count. Among those friends of ours whom I met in the Isle of Wight, one was my cousin, the Queen’s messenger, just back from Vienna. Sir Percival happened to mention Count Fosco’s name in his hearing, and what do you think my cousin said?

Mar. (looking nervously towards the drawing-room).
Don’t repeat gossip, Laura! Don’t listen to scandal!

Laura.
Scandal at Vienna, and gossip in London, say — in certain diplomatic circles — that the count is a Spy.

Mar.
For Heaven’s sake, be careful what you say of the count! I wouldn’t have him your enemy or mine for the whole world.
(She looks towards the drawing-room, and sees FOSCO putting the birds back in the cage.)
Hush! Meet him civilly if he comes out into the garden.

Fosco (taking a gaudy silk handkerchief from his pocket and covering the cage with it.)
The performance is over — the curtain falls!
(To
MADAME FOSCO.) How good you are, my angel, to indulge me in these follies of mine! I am nothing but a great big child, dressed up to look like a man.
(He gives
MADAME FOSCO
his arm.)
See the lovely moonlight in the garden! Madame Fosco, I invite you to enjoy it!
(He leads
MADAME FOSCO
out, and sees
LAURA
and
MARIAN.) Ah! the one thing wanted to complete the picture — the two dear ladies.

(He drops his wife’s arm and advances towards
MARIAN.)

Laura (making an excuse to get out of his way).
The heat quite overpowers me, Marian. I must rest a little on the sofa.

(She lies down on the sofa under the verandah, and sinks into slumber as the dialogue proceeds. A ray of moonlight falls on her face and bosom.)

Fosco (to
MARIAN,
waving his hand over the scene).
The earth sleeping spell-bound in the stillness of the night! What unwritten poetry is above us and around us at this moment!
You
feel it —
I
feel it. Dear lady, there is communion of soul between us. I am so happy!

(He lifts
MARIAN’S
hand to his lips.
MADAME FOSCO,
who has watched the
COUNT
jealously from the moment when he approached
MARIAN,
interferes.)

Madame F.
Pardon me, count, your foreign familiarities are not understood by Englishwomen.

Fosco.
Pardon
me,
my angel.
(He kisses his wife’s hand.)
The best and dearest Englishwoman in the world understands them!
(Producing his sweetmeat-box.)
Chocolate à la vanille. Have a bonbon!
(He puts back the box, and then notices
LAURA
on the sofa.)
Ah, look!
(He points to
LAURA.
The orchestra marks the situation, which has its purpose later in the act, by low music played while
FOSCO
and
MARIAN
speak their next words.)
What a charming picture! What modest grace in the repose of the limbs! What tender brightness in the light on her face and bosom!
(He takes
MARIAN’S
hand again.)
How shall we describe her, Miss Halcombe? (MARIAN
can neither answer nor move. She can only look at him and listen.)
The Sleeping Beauty of the old story. Titania, the fairy queen of your illustrious Shakspeare. The guardian angel of the house, dreaming good dreams of heaven. The dear, the interesting, the beautiful Lady Glyde. Ah, what a loss for Percival! Why does he not see her as we see her now?

Mar.
Let me go, count!
(She snatches her hand away — draws back from him — and continues aside.)
What spell is there in his touch? What influence is there in his voice? He has set me trembling from head to foot!

(The music ceases.
FOSCO
attempts to join
MARIAN. MADAME FOSCO
interposes once more.)

Madame F. (bitterly).
You appear to forget, count, that I am here!

Fosco (carried away by his enthusiasm).
Madame Fosco! you are down on the earth.
I
am up in the clouds. My soul soars above the trivial domestic details of life. I am drinking deep draughts of beauty in this intoxicating garden. Lift yourself to my elevation! Drink with me! (MADAME FOSCO
attempts to answer. The
COUNT
speaks aside to her in a suddenly altered tone.)
Silence, madam! Are you master or am I?
(He looks sternly at his wife.)

Madame F. (humbly). You
are master.

(Her head drops. She stands submissive and trembling before her husband.
MARIAN
observes the scene with astonishment.)

Mar. (aside).
He can tame anything — the gentlest and the fiercest creatures alike! The canaries obey him in the drawing-room. The jealous woman obeys him here! (MADAME FOSCO
turns to leave the garden.
MARIAN
advances to stop her.)
I can’t be left alone with him!
(She addresses
MADAME FOSCO.) Madame Fosco, the count spoke of Sir Percival just now. Do you know where he is?