Three Plays by Granville-Barker. Granville-Barker Harley
with me.
ann. In a handkerchief.
abud. Hot supper, please.
ann. It shall be ready for you.
There is silence between them for a little. Then he says timidly.
abud. May I come near to you?
ann. [In a low voice.] Come.
He sits beside her, gazing.
abud. Wife . . I never have kissed you.
ann. Shut your eyes.
abud. Are you afraid of me?
ann. We're not to play such games at love.
abud. I can't help wanting to feel very tender towards you.
ann. Think of me . . not as a wife . . but as a mother of your children . . if it's to be so. Treat me so.
abud. You are a part of me.
ann. We must try and understand it . . as a simple thing.
abud. But shall I kiss you?
ann. [Lowering her head.] Kiss me.
But when he puts his arms round her she shrinks.
ann. No.
abud. But I will. It's my right.
Almost by force he kisses her. Afterwards she clenches her hands and seems to suffer.
abud. Have I hurt you?
She gives him her hand with a strange little smile.
ann. I forgive you.
abud. [Encouraged.] Ann . . we're beginning life together.
ann. Remember . . work's enough . . no stopping to talk.
abud. I'll work for you.
ann. I'll do my part . . something will come of it.
For a moment they sit together hand in hand. Then she leaves him and paces across the room.
There is a slight pause.
ann. Papa . . I said . . we've all been in too great a hurry getting civilised. False dawn. I mean to go back.
abud. He laughed.
ann. So he saw I was of no use to him and he's penniless and he let me go. When my father dies what will he take with him? … for you do take your works with you into Heaven or Hell, I believe. Much wit. Sally is afraid to die. Don't you aspire like George's wife. I was afraid to live . . and now . . I am content.
She walks slowly to the window and from there to the door against which she places her ear. Then she looks round at her husband.
ann. I can hear them chattering.
Then she goes to the little door and opens it. abud takes up the candle.
abud. I'll hold the light . . the stairs are steep.
He lights her up the stairs.
The Voysey Inheritance
1903–5
THE VOYSEY INHERITANCE
The Office of Voysey and Son is in the best part of Lincoln's Inn. Its panelled rooms give out a sense of grand-motherly comfort and security, very grateful at first to the hesitating investor, the dubious litigant. Mr. Voysey's own room into which he walks about twenty past ten of a morning radiates enterprise besides. There is polish on everything; on the windows, on the mahogany of the tidily packed writing table that stands between them, on the brasswork of the fireplace in the other wall, on the glass of the fire-screen which preserves only the pleasantness of a sparkling fire, even on Mr. Voysey's hat as he takes it off to place it on the little red curtained shelf behind the door. Mr. Voysey is sixty or more and masterful; would obviously be master anywhere from his own home outwards, or wreck the situation in his attempt. Indeed there is a buccaneering air sometimes in the twist of his glance, not altogether suitable to a family solicitor. On this bright October morning, Peacey, the head clerk, follows just too late to help him off with his coat, but in time to take it and hang it up with a quite unnecessary subservience. Mr. Voysey is evidently not capable enough to like capable men about him. Peacey, not quite removed from Nature, has made some attempts to acquire protective colouring. A very drunken client might mistake him for his master. His voice very easily became a toneless echo of Mr. Voysey's; later his features caught a line or two from that mirror of all the necessary virtues into which he was so constantly gazing; but how his clothes even when new contrive to look like old ones of Mr. Voysey's is a mystery, and to his tailor a most annoying one. And Peacey is just a respectful number of years his master's junior. Relieved of his coat, Mr. Voysey carries to his table the bunch of beautiful roses he is accustomed to bring to the office three times a week and places them for a moment only near the bowl of water there ready to receive them while he takes up his letters. These lie ready too, opened mostly, one or two private ones left closed and discreetly separate. By this time the usual salutations have passed, Peacey's "Good morning, sir;" Mr. Voysey's "Morning, Peacey." Then as he gets to his letters Mr. Voysey starts his day's work.
mr. voysey. Any news for me?
peacey. I hear bad accounts of Alguazils preferred, sir.
mr. voysey. Oh . . from whom?
peacey. Merrit and James's head clerk in the train this morning.
mr. voysey. They looked all right on . . Give me the Times. [peacey goes to the fireplace for the Times; it is warming there. mr. voysey waves a letter, then places it on the table.] Here, that's for you . . Gerrard Cross business. Anything else?
peacey. [as he turns the Times to its Finance page.] I've made the usual notes.
mr. voysey. Thank'ee.
peacey. Young Benham isn't back yet.
mr. voysey. Mr. Edward must do as he thinks fit about that. Alguazils, Alg—oh, yes.
He is running his eye down the columns. peacey leans over the letters.
peacey. This is from Jackson, sir. Shall I take it?
mr. voysey. From Jackson. . Yes. Alguazils. Mr. Edward's here, I suppose.
peacey. No, sir.
mr. voysey. [his eye twisting with some sharpness.] What!
peacey. [almost alarmed.] I beg pardon, sir.
mr. voysey. Mr. Edward.
peacey. Oh, yes, sir, been in his room some time. I thought you said Headley; he's not due back till Thursday.
mr. voysey discards the Times and sits to his desk and his letters.
mr. voysey. Tell Mr. Edward I've come.
peacey. Yes, sir. Anything else?
mr. voysey. Not for the moment. Cold morning, isn't it?
peacey. Quite surprising, sir.
mr. voysey. We had a touch of frost down at Chislehurst.
peacey. So early!
mr. voysey. I want it for the celery. All right, I'll call through about the rest of the letters.
peacey goes, having secured a letter or two, and mr. voysey having sorted the rest (a proportion into the waste paper basket) takes up the forgotten roses and starts setting them into a bowl with an artistic hand. Then his son edward comes in. mr. voysey gives him one glance