Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (2029 page)

Horace.
I am rejoiced to hear it. I will be back directly. (
He goes out on the right.
MERCY
remains at the table.
)

Mercy
(
to herself.
) Have I gone too far to draw back? No! I have not yet presented myself to Lady Janet in Grace Roseberry’s place.

Wetzel
(
to himself, still absorbed over
GRACE). Wounded in the head; no injury that I can discover, except the injury to the head. What’s this half in and half out of her pocket? (
He draws out a white handkerchief.
) Is her name marked here, I wonder? (
He examines the corners of the handkerchief.
)

Mercy
(
continuing
). If I resist the temptation, what prospect lies before me? Nothing but the Refuge again! If I yield (
she produces the letter-case
), here is an honest woman’s place offered to me on the one condition that I stoop to win it by a trick. I am weary of the hopeless struggle. I will win it! (
She puts back the letter-case.
)

Wetzel
(
turning suddenly to
MERCY). Here is her name marked on her handkerchief! (
He holds up the handkerchief.
)

Mercy
(
aside
). The handkerchief that I lent to her!

Wetzel
(
reading the mark on the handkerchief
). “Mercy Merrick.”

Mercy
(
aside
).
His
lips have said it!

Wetzel
(
to
MERCY). “Mercy Merrick” is an English name, isn’t it?

Mercy
(
shortly
). Yes.

(HORACE
re-enters on the right.
)

Horace.
I have not overrated my interest. Here is the pass. I must fill it up with your name. Have you pen and ink at hand?

(MERCY
points to the writing materials on the table.
HORACE
joins her there, and prepares to write.
WETZEL
addresses
MERCY
without leaving the bed.
)

Wetzel.
Are you going away?

Mercy
. Yes.

Wetzel
(
to
HORACE). Are
you
going away too?

Horace.
I am going to see this lady through the lines. (WETZEL
takes a chair, and seats himself at the bed-head.
HORACE
continues to
MERCY.) What is your name?

Mercy
(
with an effort
). Grace Roseberry.

Horace.
Miss? (MERCY
bows.
HORACE
writes as he speaks.
) “Miss Grace Roseberry — British subject.” Do you wish to return to England? (MERCY
bows again.
HORACE
writes, repeating the words.
) “Returning to her friends in England.” (
He dries the ink with the sandbox.
) That will be enough. (
He rises, and gives
MERCY
the pass.
) I will take you through the lines myself, and arrange for your being sent on by the railway. Where is your luggage?

Mercy
. In one of the outhouses. I will be ready in a few minutes. How am I to get by the sentinel?

Horace.
You have only to show your pass. Shall I wait for you here, or outside the cottage?

Mercy
(
aside, looking at
WETZEL). I don’t like that man — he has a way of asking questions. (
To
HORACE.) Outside the cottage.

(
She withdraws by the outer room.
HORACE
notices
WETZEL,
still sitting with his eyes fixed on
GRACE.)

Horace.
You seem to be interested, doctor. Anything remarkable in the manner of that poor creature’s death?

Wetzel
(
gruffly
). Nothing to put in the newspapers, sir!

Horace.
Interesting to a doctor, eh?

Wetzel
(
as before
). Yes. Interesting to a doctor. (HORACE
goes out on the right.
WETZEL
looks round him to see that the room is empty, then calls to his assistant in the outer room.
) Max!

Max
(
appearing
). Yes, sir.

Wetzel.
Look for my black bag, and bring it here. (
He warms into some enthusiasm, and takes a turn in the room.
) The French surgeon examines this woman’s wound — and certifies to her death. I examine her — and what do I find? Life suspended by pressure on the brain. Max! (
The assistant enters, and gives his master the bag.
WETZEL
goes to the table and speaks, while he produces some surgical instruments from the bag.
) You remember the battle of Sadowa, Max? And the Austrian soldier I operated on, for a wound in the head? (MAX
bows.
) I am not satisfied with the result of that operation. I succeeded in saving the man’s life — but I failed to give him back his reason along with it. There is a similar case on that bed. Follow me, and hold the candle. I am going to see if I can save the life, and the reason, too —
this
time.

(
He bends over
GRACE,
with his back to the audience.
MAX
holds the candle. In the silence that follows, the voice of the nearest sentinel is heard outside, passing
MERCY
through the lines.
)

The First Sentinel
(
close outside
). Pass the English lady!

Wetzel
(
to
MAX —
pausing in the operation
). Put the candle on the shelf, and take down that looking-glass. (MAX
obeys.
) Hold it over her mouth — I am going to lift the broken bone. (
He proceeds with the operation.
)

The Second Sentinel
(
farther off
). Pass the English lady!

Wetzel
(
with one hand on
GRACE’S
head
). Wait! Give her a moment more. Now show me the glass. (MAX
shows it.
) The surface is dimmed. She breathes! she lives!

The Third Sentinel
(
just audible in the distance
). Pass the English lady!

The curtain falls.

THE NEW MAGDALEN

— + —

THE STORY.

PERSONS OF THE STORY.

— + —

MEN

HORACE HOLMCROFT.
JULIAN GRAY.
A MAN-SERVANT.
A POLICE OFFICER (
in plain clothes
)

— + —

WOMEN

MERCY MERRICK.
GRACE ROSEBERRY.
LADY JANET ROY.

ACT I.

Period — 1870. Place — England.

(AN INTERVAL OF FOUR MONTHS IS SUPPOSED TO HAVE ELAPSED BETWEEN THE PROLOGUE AND THE FIRST ACT.)

SCENE. —
The dining-room at Mablethorpe House. An entrance at the back, opening into a conservatory. The room richly furnished. Doors at the side, right and left.

At the rise of the curtain,
LADY JANET ROY
and
HORACE HOLMCROFT
are discovered seated at the luncheon-table, on the right-hand side of the stage.
MERCY MERRICK (
now known under the assumed name of
GRACE ROSEBERRY)
has risen from the table, and stands between
LADY JANET
and the conservatory.

Mercy
. May I go back to the flowers, Lady Janet?

Lady J.
Certainly, my love.

(MERCY
goes into the conservatory, occasionally appearing and disappearing during the dialogue that follows, as if occupied in attending to the flowers.
)

Lady J.
Take some French pie, Horace?

Horace.
No, thank you, Lady Janet.

Lady J.
Some more chicken, then?

Horace.
No more chicken.

Lady J.
Will nothing tempt you?

Horace.
I will take some more wine, if you will allow me. (
He fills his glass
).

Lady J.
The air of Kensington doesn’t appear to suit you, my young friend. The longer you have been my guest at Mablethorpe House, the less you eat and the oftener you fill your glass and empty your cigar-case. Those are bad signs in a young man. Are you ill?

Horace.
No.

Lady J.
You were sent home wounded, nearly three months since. Does your wound still pain you?

Horace.
Not in the least!

Lady J.
Then what
is
the matter with you? Are you out of spirits?

Horace.
Awfully.

Lady J.
I don’t allow anybody to be out of spirits in my house. I consider it to be a reflection on ME. If your quiet life here doesn’t suit you, find something to do. There is employment to be had, I suppose, if you choose to apply for it.

Horace.
Certainly. The war is still going on. The newspaper has offered to send me out again as correspondent.

Lady J.
Don’t speak of the newspapers and the war.

Horace.
Why not?

Lady J.
I detest the newspapers! I won’t allow the newspapers to enter the house! I lay the whole blame of the bloodshed between France and Germany at their door.

Horace.
My dear Lady Janet, what can you possibly mean? Are the newspapers responsible for the war?

Lady J.
Entirely responsible. Why, you don’t understand the age you live in! Does anybody do anything nowadays (fighting included), without wanting to see it in the newspapers?
I
subscribe to a charity;
thou
art presented with a testimonial;
he
preaches a sermon;
we
suffer a grievance;
you
make a discovery;
they
go to church and get married. And I, thou, he, we, you, and they, all want one and the same thing — we want to see it in the papers! Are kings, soldiers, and diplomatists, exceptions to the general rule of humanity? Not they! I tell you seriously, if the newspapers of Europe had one and all decided not to take the smallest notice in print of the war between France and Germany, it is my firm conviction that the war would have come to an end for want of encouragement long since. Let the pen cease to advertise the sword, and I for one can see the result. No report — no fighting.