Six Plays by Lady Florence Henrietta Fisher Darwin Part 15

CLARA. If London roads were paved with diamonds I'd sooner have my feet treading this rugged way that leads to home.

JOAN. What sort of a place shall we find it when we gets there, mistress.

CLARA. I was but seven when I left them all, Joan. And that is fourteen years ago to-day.

JOAN. So many years may bring about some powerful big changes, mistress.

CLARA. But I dream that I shall find all just as it was when I went away. Only that Gran'ma won't be there.

[There is a short silence during which CLARA seems lost in thought.

JOAN flicks the dust off her shoes with a branch of leaves.

JOAN. 'Tis the coaches I do miss down in these parts.

CLARA. I would not have driven one step of the way this morning, Joan. In my fancy I have been walking up from the village and through the wood and over the meadows since many a day. I have not forgotten one turn of the path.

JOAN. The road has not changed then, mistress?

CLARA. No. But it does not seem quite so broad or so fine as I remembered it to be. That is all.

JOAN. And very likely the house won't seem so fine neither, mistress, after the grand rooms which you have been used to.

JOAN. What company shall we see there, mistress?

CLARA. Well, there's Thomas, he is my brother, and Emily his wife.

Then the two children.

CLARA. [After a short silence, and as though to herself.] And there was George.

JOAN. Yes, mistress

CLARA. Georgie seemed so big and tall to me in those days. I wonder how old he really was, when I was seven.

JOAN. Would that be a younger brother of yours, like, mistress

CLARA. No, George minded the horses and looked after the cows and poultry. Sometimes he would drive me into market with him on a Sat.u.r.day. And in the evenings I would follow him down to the pool to see the cattle watered.

JOAN. I'm mortal afeared of cows, mistress. I could never abide the sight nor the sound of those animals.

CLARA. You'll soon get over that, Joan.

JOAN. And I don't care for poultry neither, very much. I goes full of fear when I hears one of they old turkey c.o.c.ks stamping about.

CLARA. [Pulling up the sleeve of her left arm.] There, do you see this little scar? I was helping George to feed the ducks and geese when the fierce gander ran after me and knocked me down and took a piece right out of my arm.

JOAN. [Looking intently on the scar.] I have often seen that there mark, mistress. And do you think as that old gander will be living along of the poultry still?

CLARA. I wish he might be, Joan.

JOAN. What with the cows and the horses and the ganders, we shall go with our lives in our hands, as you might say.

CLARA. [As though to herself.] When the days got colder, we would sit under the straw rick, George and I. And he would sing to me.

Some of his songs, I could say off by heart this day.

JOAN. [Looking nervously upward.] O do look at that nasty little thing dropping down upon us from a piece of thread silk. Who ever put such a thing up in the tree I'd like to know.

CLARA. [Brushing it gently aside.] That won't hurt you--a tiny caterpillar.

JOAN. [After a moment.] What more could the farm hand do, mistress?

CLARA. He would clasp on his bells and dance in the Morris on certain days, Joan.

JOAN. 'Tis to be hoped as there'll be some dancing or something to liven us all up a bit down here.

CLARA. Why, Joan, I believe you're tired already of the country.

JOAN. 'Tis so powerful quiet and heavy like, mistress.

CLARA. 'Tis full of sounds. Listen to the doves in the trees and the lambs calling from the meadow.

JOAN. I'd sooner have the wheels of the coaches and the cries upon the street, and the door bell a ringing every moment and fine gentlemen and ladies being shewn up into the parlour.

CLARA. [Stretching out her arms.] O how glad I am to be free of all that. And most of all, how glad to be ridded of one person.

JOAN. His lordship will perhaps follow us down here, mistress.

CLARA. No, I have forbidden it. I must have a month of quiet, and he is to wait that time for his answer.

JOAN. O mistress, you'll never disappoint so fine a gentleman.

CLARA. You forget that Lord Lovel and I have played together as children. It is as a brother that I look upon him.

JOAN. His lordship don't look upon you as a sister, mistress.

CLARA. [Rising.] That is a pity, Joan. But see, it is getting late and we must be moving onwards.

[JOAN rises and smoothes and shakes out her skirt.

CLARA. Here, loosen my cloak, Joan, and untie the ribbons of my bonnet.

JOAN. O mistress, keep the pretty clothes upon you till you have got to the house.

CLARA. No, no--such town garments are not suited to the woods and meadows. I want to feel the country breeze upon my head, and my limbs must be free from the weight of the cloak. I had these things upon me during the coach journey. They are filled with road dust and I dislike them now.

JOAN. [Unfastening the cloak and untying the bonnet.] They are fresh and bright for I brushed and shook them myself this morning.

CLARA. [Retying a blue ribbon which she wears in her hair.] I have taken a dislike to them. See here, Joan, since you admire them, they shall be yours.

JOAN. Mine? The French bonnet and the satin cloak?