The Mousetrap and Other Plays

HENRIETTA. (Moving Centre) You were very rude, John.

  JOHN. (Turning) I’ve no time for that sort of person.

  HENRIETTA. Edward’s a dear.

  JOHN. Possibly. (He lights his cigarette.) I don’t like him. I think he is quite ineffectual.

  HENRIETTA. You know, sometimes, John, I’m afraid for you.

  JOHN. Afraid for me? What do you mean?

  HENRIETTA. It’s dangerous to be as oblivious as you are.

  JOHN. Oblivious?

  HENRIETTA. You never see or know anything that people are feeling about you.

  JOHN. I should have said the opposite.

  HENRIETTA. You see what you’re looking at—yes. You’re like a searchlight. A powerful beam turned on to the one spot where your interest is, but behind it, and each side of it, darkness.

  JOHN. Henrietta, darling, what is all this?

  HENRIETTA. I tell you, it’s dangerous. You assume everybody likes you—(She moves in to Right of JOHN) Lucy and Gerda, Henry, Midge and Edward.

  (JOHN puts his cigarette in the ashtray on the mantelpiece.)

  Do you know at all what they feel about you?

  JOHN. (Smiling) And Henrietta? What does the feel? At least—(He catches her hand and draws her to him) I’m sure of you.

  HENRIETTA. You can be sure of no one in this world, John.

  (JOHN kisses her. As she gives in to him helplessly, he releases her, smiles, turns, picks up his cigarette and moves to the door Left. EDWARD enters Right. JOHN gives EDWARD a cynical look Left, then exits Left.)

  (She turns to EDWARD.) Get me a drink, would you, Edward, before I go. (She turns, looks in the mirror on the mantelpiece, and touches up her lipstick with her handkerchief.)

  EDWARD. (Moving to the drinks table) Sherry?

  HENRIETTA. Please.

  EDWARD. (Pouring out two sherries) I wish you’d come to Ainswick more often, Henrietta. It’s a long time now.

  HENRIETTA. I know. One gets tangled up in things.

  EDWARD. Is that the real reason?

  HENRIETTA. Not quite.

  EDWARD. You can tell me, Henrietta.

  HENRIETTA. (Turning; feelingly) You are a dear, Edward. I’m very fond of you.

  EDWARD. (Crossing to Right of HENRIETTA with the drinks) Why don’t you come to Ainswick? (He hands a drink to her.)

  HENRIETTA. Because—one can’t go back.

  EDWARD. You used to be happy there, in the old days.

  HENRIETTA. Yes, happy in the loveliest way of all—when one doesn’t know one is happy.

  EDWARD. (Raising his glass) To Ainswick.

  HENRIETTA. (Raising her glass) Ainswick.

  (They both laugh, then sip their drinks.)

  Is it the same, Edward? Or has it changed? Things do change.

  EDWARD. I don’t change.

  HENRIETTA. No, darling Edward. You’re always the same.

  EDWARD. Same old stick-in-the-mud.

  HENRIETTA. (Crossing below EDWARD to the sofa) Don’t say that. (She sits on the sofa at the Left end.)

  EDWARD. It’s true. I’ve never been very good at—doing things.

  HENRIETTA. I think perhaps you’re wise not to do things.

  EDWARD. That’s an odd thing for you to say, Henrietta. You who’ve been so successful.

  HENRIETTA. Sculpture isn’t a thing you set out to do and succeed in. It’s something that gets at you—and haunts you—so that, in the end, you just have to make terms with it. And then—for a while—you get some peace.

  EDWARD. Do you want to be peaceful, Henrietta?

  HENRIETTA. Sometimes I think I want to be peaceful more than anything in the world.

  EDWARD. (Crossing to Left of the sofa) You could be peaceful at Ainswick. (He puts his hand on HENRIETTA’s shoulder.) I think you could be happy there. Even—even if you had to put up with me. (He crosses and sits on the sofa at the Right end of it.) What about it, Henrietta? Won’t you come to Ainswick and make it your home? It’s always been there, you know, waiting for you.

  HENRIETTA. Edward, I wish I weren’t so very fond of you. It makes it so much more difficult to go on saying no.

  EDWARD. It is no, then?

  HENRIETTA. (Putting her glass on the coffee table) I’m sorry.

  EDWARD. You’ve said no before, but this time—(He rises) well, I thought it might be different. When we walked in the woods your face was so young and happy, (He moves to the window Right) almost as it used to be. Talking about Ainswick, thinking about Ainswick. Don’t you see what that means, Henrietta?

  HENRIETTA. Edward, we’ve been living this afternoon in the past.

  EDWARD. (Moving to Right of the sofa) The past is sometimes a very good place to live.

  HENRIETTA. One can’t go back. That’s the one thing you can’t do—go back.

  (There is a pause. EDWARD moves above the sofa to Left of it and looks towards the door Left.)

  EDWARD. (Quietly) What you really mean is that you won’t marry me because of John Cristow. (He pauses, then turns.) That’s it, isn’t it? If there were no John Cristow in the world you would marry me.

  HENRIETTA. I can’t imagine a world in which there was no John Cristow.

  (SIR HENRY enters Left. He now wears dinner clothes. HENRIETTA rises.)

  SIR HENRY. (Switching on the wall bracket and mantelpiece lights by the switch below the fireplace). Hurry up, Henrietta. It’s nearly dinner time.

  HENRIETTA. (Crossing to the door Left) I’ll be quick as a flash.

  (She exits hurriedly Left. EDWARD sits on the sofa at the Left end of it.)

  SIR HENRY. (Crossing to the drinks table) Have you got a drink, Edward?

  (He switches on the table lamp on the drinks table.)

  EDWARD. Thank you, yes.

  SIR HENRY. (Mixing cocktails) Haven’t seen much of you since Lucy and I settled down at The Hollow.

  EDWARD. No. How does it affect you both—laying aside the cares of state?

  SIR HENRY. I sometimes think, Edward, that you’ve been the wisest of the family.

  EDWARD. That’s an original point of view. I always regard myself as a walking example of how to fail in life.

  SIR HENRY. Oh no, it’s a question of the right values. To look after one’s estate and to read and care for one’s books—

  (MIDGE enters Left. She wears an evening frock. EDWARD rises.)

  —not to compete in the struggle for material achievement . . . (He turns to MIDGE.) Hullo, there—that’s a pretty frock.

  MIDGE. (Moving Left Centre and turning completely around, showing off her frock) One of my perks from the shop.

  EDWARD. You can’t really like working in a shop, Midge.

  MIDGE. (Crossing to the drinks table) Who said I like it? (She picks up the bowl of olives.)

  EDWARD. (Resuming his seat on the sofa) Then why do it?

  MIDGE. What do you suggest I should live on? Beautiful thoughts?

  EDWARD. (Shocked) But, my dear girl, if I’d had any idea you were hard up . . .

  SIR HENRY. Save your breath, Edward. She’s obstinate. Refused an allowance and won’t come and live with us, though we’ve begged her to. I can’t think of anything nicer than having young Midge about the house.

  EDWARD. Why don’t you, Midge?

  MIDGE. (Moving Right of the sofa then below it) I have ideas. (She offers the olives to EDWARD.) Poor, proud and prejudiced—

  (EDWARD shakes his head, refusing the olives.)

  —that’s me.

  (LADY ANGKATELL enters Left. She wears an evening gown. EDWARD rises.)

  They’re badgering me, Lucy.

  LADY ANGKATELL. (Crossing to the armchair Left Centre) Are they, darling? (She sits.)

  EDWARD. I don’t like the idea of her working in that dress shop.

  MIDGE. (Crossing to LADY ANGKATELL) Well, find me a better job. (She offers the olives to her.)

  (LADY ANGKATELL takes an olive. MIDGE moves to the fireplace and puts the dish on the mantelpiece.)

  EDWARD. There s
urely must be something . . .

  MIDGE. I’ve no particular qualifications, remember. Just a pleasant manner and the ability to keep my temper when I’m shouted at.

  EDWARD. Do you mean to say the customers are rude to you?

  MIDGE. Abominably rude, sometimes. (She sits on the pouffe.) It’s their privilege.

  EDWARD. (Crossing to the fireplace; horrified) But my dear girl, that’s all wrong. (He puts his glass on the mantelpiece.) If I’d only known . . .

  (He takes his case from his pocket and offers MIDGE a cigarette.)

  MIDGE. (Taking a cigarette) How should you know? Your world and mine are so far apart.

  (EDWARD lights MIDGE’s cigarette.)

  I’m only half an Angkatell. The other half’s just plain business girl, with unemployment always lurking round the corner in spite of the politicians’ brave words.

  SIR HENRY. (Crossing to MIDGE with two drinks) You be a good girl and drink that. (He hands one drink to her.) What’s rubbed your fur up the wrong way, kitten? (He offers the other drink to LADY ANGKATELL.)

  LADY ANGKATELL. (To SIR HENRY) Sherry for me, dear.

  (SIR HENRY moves to drinks table.)

  Edward does have that effect sometimes.

  (GERDA enters left. She wears an evening frock.)

  GERDA. (Crossing to Right of LADY ANGKATELL) I’m so sorry if I’m late.

  LADY ANGKATELL. (Holding GERDA’s hand) But you’re not at all late, my dear.

  MIDGE. We’ve just come down.

  SIR HENRY. What will you have, Mrs. Cristow—sherry—gin?

  (JOHN enters Left. He wears dinner clothes.)

  GERDA (Crossing to Left of the drinks table) Oh—thank you, gin and something, please.

  JOHN. Am I the last? (He crosses down Right.)

  LADY ANGKATELL. Henrietta isn’t down yet.

  (SIR HENRY crosses with a drink to LADY ANGKATELL and hands it to her, then returns to the drinks table and pours a drink for GERDA. The conversations overlap in a hubbub of talk.)

  EDWARD. Yes, it’s one of your perks, didn’t you say, Midge?

  GERDA (Crossing to Right). This is very nice.

  LADY ANGKATELL. Perks? Do you mean to say you get them for nothing? Henry, darling, do you know that this child gets . . .

  JOHN. It will go straight to your head, if you are not careful.

  (VERONICA CRAYE enters on the terrace up Centre from Left and stands posed in the French windows. She is a very beautiful woman and knows it. She wears a resplendent evening gown and carries an evening bag. Her appearance causes a sensation. JOHN stares at her like a man dazed. MIDGE and LADY ANGKATELL rise. They all turn and stare at VERONICA.)

  VERONICA. (Moving to Right of LADY ANGKATELL) You must forgive me—for bursting in upon you this way. I’m your neighbour, Lady Angkatell—from that ridiculous cottage, Dovecotes—and the most awful thing has happened. (She moves Centre and dominates the scene.) Not a single match in the house and my lighter won’t work. So what could I do? I just came along to beg help from my only neighbour within miles.

  LADY ANGKATELL. Why, of course. How awkward for you.

  VERONICA. (Turning Right and affecting to see JOHN quite suddenly) Why, surely—John! Why, it’s John Cristow. (She crosses to Left of JOHN and takes hold of both his hands.) Now isn’t that amazing? I haven’t seen you for years and years and years. And suddenly—to find you—here. This is just the most wonderful surprise. (To LADY ANGKATELL) John’s an old friend of mine. (She retains hold of JOHN’s left hand.) Why, John’s the first man I ever loved.

  SIR HENRY. (Moving above the sofa with two drinks) Sherry? Or dry Martini?

  VERONICA. No, no, thank you.

  (JOHN takes a sherry from SIR HENRY.)

  LADY ANGKATELL. (Resuming her seat in the armchair Left Centre) Midge dear, ring the bell.

  (MIDGE moves below the fireplace and presses the bell-push.)

  VERONICA. I hope you don’t think it’s just too awful of me butting in like this.

  LADY ANGKATELL. Not at all.

  SIR HENRY. (Moving up Centre) We are honoured. (He indicates MIDGE.) My cousin, Miss Harvey. Edward Angkatell. (He looks towards GERDA.) Er . . .

  (GERDA eases down Right of JOHN.)

  JOHN. And this is my wife, Veronica.

  VERONICA. (Crossing below JOHN to Left of GERDA and taking her by the hand). Oh, but how lovely to meet you.

  (GUDGEON enters Left)

  GUDGEON. You rang, m’lady?

  LADY ANGKATELL. A dozen boxes of matches, please, Gudgeon.

  (GUDGEON is momentarily taken aback, but regains his normal impassivity immediately and exits Left.)

  SIR HENRY. And how do you like living at Dovecotes?

  VERONICA. (Turning) I adore it (She crosses up stage to Left of the sofa and looks off Right.) I think it’s so wonderful to be right in the heart of the country—these lovely English woods—and yet to be quite near London.

  SIR HENRY. You’ve no idea what a thrill you’ve caused in the neighbourhood. But you must be used to that sort of thing.

  VERONICA. Well, I’ve signed a few autograph books, (She eases below the Left end of the sofa) but what I like about it here is that one isn’t in a village, and there’s no one to stare or gape. (She sits on the sofa at the Left end.) I just appreciate the peacefulness of it all.

  (GUDGEON enters Left. He carries a packet of a dozen boxes of matches on a salver.)

  LADY ANGKATELL. (Indicating VERONICA) For madam.

  (GUDGEON crosses to VERONICA.)

  VERONICA. (Taking the matches) Oh dear, Lady Angkatell—I can’t really accept . . .

  LADY ANGKATELL. Please. It’s nothing at all.

  VERONICA. Well, I do appreciate your kindness.

  (GUDGEON crosses and exits Left.)

  John, do you live in this neighborhood too?

  JOHN. No—no, I live in London. I’m just down here for the weekend.

  VERONICA. Oh, I just can’t get over meeting you again after all these years.

  (HENRIETTA enters Left and moves to Left of LADY ANGKATELL. She wears an evening frock.)

  (She glances at HENRIETTA and rises.) Now—I must get back—carrying my spoils with me. John, will you see me down the lane?

  (LADY ANGKATELL rises.)

  JOHN. Yes, of course.

  VERONICA. (Crossing to Right of LADY ANGKATELL) And thank you a thousand times. (She smiles at SIR HENRY and EDWARD but ignores the ladies.) You’ve all been very kind.

  (JOHN moves to the drinks table and puts his glass on it.)

  LADY ANGKATELL. Not at all.

  VERONICA. (Crossing above the sofa to JOHN) Now, John, you must tell me all you’ve been doing in the years and years since I’ve seen you.

  (GUDGEON enters Left.)

  GUDGEON. Dinner is served, m’lady.

  (He exits Left.)

  VERONICA. Oh, I mustn’t take you away just as dinner is ready.

  SIR HENRY. Won’t you stay and dine with us?

  VERONICA. No, no, no. I couldn’t dream of it. John, can’t you come over after dinner? I’m just dying to hear all your news. I’ll be expecting you. (She goes up the steps, turns and stands in the French window up Centre.) And thank you all—so much.

  (She exits up Centre to Left. JOHN stands Right of the French window up Centre and looks after her. LADY ANGKATELL hands her glass to EDWARD, who puts it on the mantelpiece. MIDGE puts her glass on the mantelpiece, moves to the door Left and opens it. JOHN goes on to the terrace.)

  LADY ANGKATELL. What a beautiful performance! Shall we go in to dinner? (She crosses to the door Left.)

  (SIR HENRY crosses to the door Left. A hubbub of conversation breaks out and the following speeches overlap as the exits are made.)

  I remember seeing that girl in a film. She was wearing a sari very low down.

  (She exits Left.)

  EDWARD. I’ve seen her too, but I can’t remember the name of the film.

  MIDGE. San Francisco Story—it must be. It was
revived two months ago.

  (She exits Left.)

  EDWARD. Which theatre? Did you see San Francisco Story?

  SIR HENRY. She must have changed her hair. She had it flowing down her back. Mrs. Cristow, what do you think of our film star?

  (GERDA crosses to the door Left.)

  GERDA. She’s very nice, very nice indeed, really.

  (She exits Left.)

  EDWARD. Yes, she is. Isn’t she, Henry?

  SIR HENRY. Not so tall as I should have thought, seeing her on the films.

  (He exits Left.)

  EDWARD. No, I agree, but they are very different in real life.

  (He exits Left. The conversation continues off stage. JOHN, oblivious of everything else, stands on the terrace looking off Left. HENRIETTA moves to the door Left and turns.)

  HENRIETTA. Are you coming, John?

  JOHN. H’m? Oh yes—yes, of course.

  (HENRIETTA exits Left. JOHN crosses to the door Left and follows her off as—the Curtain falls.)

  CURTAIN

  ACT TWO

  Scene I

  SCENE: The same. Saturday morning.

  When Curtain rises, it is a fine morning. The clock is striking eleven. The French windows are open, and music is coming softly from the radio. The tune is “I cried for you.” JOHN enters briskly Left. He is humming, looks happy and good-tempered. He moves to Left Centre, checks his watch with the clock on the mantelpiece, goes on to the terrace up Centre, takes a cigarette from his case and lights it. GUDGEON enters Left. He carries a salver with a note on it.

  GUDGEON. (Moving Left Centre) A note for you, sir.

  JOHN. (Moving to Right of GUDGEON; surprised) For me? (He takes the note.)

  GUDGEON. They are waiting for an answer, sir.

  JOHN. It looks as though it’s going to be a fine day, Gudgeon.

  GUDGEON. Yes, sir. There was quite a haze over the downs early this morning.

  (JOHN reads the note and frowns angrily.)

  JOHN. There’s no answer, Gudgeon.

  GUDGEON. (Turning and crossing to the door Left.) Very good, sir.

  JOHN. Where is everybody?

  GUDGEON. (Stopping and turning) Her ladyship has gone down to the farm, sir. The gentlemen have gone out shooting, and I believe Miss Harvey and Miss Henrietta are in the garden.

  JOHN. Thank you, Gudgeon.

  (GUDGEON exits Left. JOHN moves on to the terrace up Centre, rereads the note, utters an angry ejaculation, crumples the note and puts it in his pocket. MIDGE enters Right. She carries an armful of dahlias and loose leaves.)