The Mousetrap and Other Plays

  KARL. How can you be afraid of me?

  LISA. Because you’re the kind of man who always brings suffering.

  KARL. No.

  LISA. It’s true.

  KARL. No.

  LISA. I see people as they are. Without malice and without entering into judgement, but without illusions, either. I don’t expect people to be wonderful or life to be wonderful, and I don’t particularly want to be wonderful myself. If there are fields of amaranth—they can be on the other side of the grave as far as I am concerned.

  KARL. Fields of amaranth? What are you talking about?

  LISA. I’m talking about you, Karl. You put ideas first, not people. Ideas of loyalty and friendship and pity. And because of that the people who are near, suffer. (She moves to R of the armchair) You knew you’d lose your job if you befriended the Schultzes. And you knew, you must have known, what an unhappy life that would mean for Anya. But you didn’t care about Anya. You only cared about your ideas of what was right. But people matter, Karl. They matter as much as ideas. Anya mattered, I matter. Because of your ideas, because of your mercy and compassion for the girl who killed your wife, you sacrificed me. I was the one who paid for your compassion. But I’m not ready to do that any more. I love you, but love isn’t enough. You’ve more in common with the girl Helen than you have with me. She was like you—ruthless. She went all out for the things she believed in. She didn’t care what happened to people as long as she got her own way.

  KARL. (moving towards the armchair) Lisa, you can’t mean what you are saying. You can’t.

  LISA. I do mean it. I’ve been thinking it really for a long time. (She moves below the left end of the sofa) I’ve thought of it all these days in court. I didn’t really think they’d acquit me. I don’t know why they did. The judge didn’t seem to think there was much reasonable doubt. But I suppose some of the jury believed me. There was one little man who kept on looking at me as though he was sizing me up. Just a commonplace ordinary little man—but he looked at me and thought I hadn’t done it—or perhaps he thought I was the kind of woman that he’d like to go to bed with and he didn’t want me to suffer. I don’t know what he thought—but—he was a person looking at another person and he was on my side and perhaps he persuaded the others. And so I’m free. I’ve been given a second chance to start life again. I’m starting again—alone.

  LISA exits down R. KARL crosses and sits on the sofa.

  KARL. (pleadingly) Lisa. You can’t mean it. You can’t be so cruel. You must listen. Lisa. I implore you.

  LISA re-enters down R. She carries a small silver photo frame. She remains down R, facing KARL.

  LISA. No, Karl. What happens to the women who love you? Anya loved you and she died. Helen loved you and she’s dead. I—have been very near death. I’ve had enough. I want to be free of you—for ever.

  KARL. But where will you go?

  There is a pause as LISA crosses below KARL to C.

  LISA. You told me to go away and marry and have children. Perhaps that’s what I’ll do. If so, I’ll find someone like that little man on the jury, someone who’ll be human and a person, like me. (She suddenly cries out) I’ve had enough. I’ve loved you for years and it’s broken me. I’m going away and I shall never see you again. Never!

  KARL. Lisa!

  LISA. (moving down L) Never!

  The DOCTOR is suddenly heard calling from the hall.

  DOCTOR. (off; calling) Karl! Karl!

  The DOCTOR enters up C from R and moves towards KARL, without noticing LISA.

  It’s all right, my boy. She’s acquitted. (During this he is quite out of breath) Do you understand? She’s acquitted. (He suddenly sees LISA and crosses to her with outstretched arms) Lisa—my dear Lisa. Thank God we’ve got you safe. It’s wonderful. Wonderful!

  LISA. (trying to respond to him) Yes, it’s wonderful.

  DOCTOR. (holding her away from him and looking her up and down) How are you? A little fine drawn—thinner—only natural with all you’ve been through. But we’ll make it up to you. (He crosses above the armchair to KARL) We’ll look after you. As for Karl here, you can imagine the state he’s been in. Ah, well, thank God that’s all over now. (He turns to KARL) What do you say—shall we go out—celebrate? A bottle of champagne—eh? (He beams expectantly)

  LISA. (forcing a smile) No, Doctor—not tonight.

  DOCTOR. Ah, what an old fool I am. Of course not. You need rest.

  LISA. I am all right. (She moves towards the doors up C) I must just get my things together.

  DOCTOR. (moving to LISA) Things?

  LISA. I am not—staying here.

  DOCTOR. But . . . (Enlightened) Oh, I see—well, perhaps that is wise—with people like your Mrs. Roper about, with their evil minds and tongues. But where will you go? To an hotel? Better come to us. Margaret will be delighted. It’s a very tiny room that we have, but we’ll look after you well.

  LISA. How kind you are. But I have all my plans made. Tell—tell Margaret that I will come to see her very soon.

  LISA goes into the hall and exits to her bedroom. The DOCTOR turns back to KARL and begins to realize that all is not well.

  DOCTOR (moving C) Karl—is anything wrong?

  KARL. What should be wrong?

  DOCTOR. (semi-relieved) She has been through a terrible ordeal. It takes a little time to—to come back to normal. (He looks around) When I think we sat here—waiting—with that damn telephone ringing all the time—hoping—fearing—and now—all over.

  KARL. (tonelessly) Yes—all over.

  DOCTOR. (robustly) No decent jury would ever have convicted her. (He moves and sits L of KARL on the sofa) I told you so. You look half dazed still, Karl. Can’t you believe it yet? (He takes KARL affectionately by the shoulder) Karl, snap out of it. We’ve got our Lisa back again.

  KARL turns sharply away.

  Oh, I know—I’m clumsy—it takes a little time to get used to the joy.

  LISA enters from her bedroom and comes into the room. She carries a hold-all which she puts on the floor up C. She avoids looking at KARL and stands up LC.

  LISA. I’m going now.

  DOCTOR. (rising) I’ll get a taxi for you.

  LISA. (sharply) No—please—I’d rather be alone. (She turns away L)

  The DOCTOR is slightly taken aback. She relents, moves to the DOCTOR and puts her hands on his shoulders.

  Thank you—for all your kindness—for all you did for Anya—you have been a good friend—I shall never forget.

  LISA kisses the DOCTOR, picks up her hold-all and without once looking at KARL exits up C to R.

  DOCTOR. (moving to KARL) Karl—what does this mean. There is something wrong.

  KARL. Lisa is going away.

  DOCTOR. Yes, yes—temporarily. But—she is coming back.

  KARL. (turning to face the DOCTOR) No, she is not coming back.

  DOCTOR. (appalled) What do you mean?

  KARL. (with complete conviction and force) She—is—not—coming—back.

  DOCTOR. (incredulously) Do you mean—you have parted?

  KARL. You saw her go—that was our parting.

  DOCTOR. But—why?

  KARL. She had had enough.

  DOCTOR. Talk sense, man.

  KARL. It’s very simple. She has suffered. She doesn’t want to suffer any more.

  DOCTOR. Why should she suffer?

  KARL. It seems—I am a man—who brings suffering to those who love him.

  DOCTOR. Nonsense!

  KARL. Is it? Anya loved me and she is dead. Helen loved me and she died.

  DOCTOR. Did Lisa say that to you?

  KARL. Yes. Am I such a man? Do I bring suffering to those who love me? What did she mean when she talked of fields of amaranth?

  DOCTOR. Fields of amaranth. (He thinks for a moment, then recollects, moves to the table RC, picks up the “Walter Savage Landor” and gives it to KARL) Yes, I was reading there. (He points to the quotation)

  KARL. Please leave me.
br />   DOCTOR. I’d like to stay.

  KARL. I must get used to being alone.

  DOCTOR. (moving up C, then hesitating and returning to KARL) You don’t think . . . ?

  KARL. She will not come back.

  The DOCTOR exits reluctantly up C to R.

  (He rises, crosses to the desk, switches on the desk light, draws the curtains, then sits at the desk and reads) “There are no fields of Amaranth this side of the grave. There are no voices, oh Rhodope, that are not soon mute, however tuneful: there is no name, with whatever emphasis of passionate love repeated, of which the echo is not faint at last . . .” (He puts the book gently on the desk, rises, picks up the record, goes to the record player, puts on the record, switches on, then goes slowly to the armchair and sinks into it) Lisa—Lisa—how can I live without you? (He drops his head into his hands)

  The door up C opens slowly. LISA enters up C, moves slowly to R of KARL and puts her hand gently on his shoulder.

  (He looks up at LISA) Lisa? You’ve come back. Why?

  LISA. (kneeling at KARL’s side) Because I am a fool.

  LISA rests her head on KARL’s lap, he rests his head on hers and the music builds up as—

  The CURTAIN falls.

  Go Back for Murder

  Presented by Peter Saunders at the Duchess Theatre, London, on the 23rd March, 1960, with the following cast of characters:

  (in the order of their appearance)

  JUSTIN FOGG

  Robert Urquhart

  TURNBALL

  Peter Hutton

  CARLA

  Ann Firbank

  JEFF ROGERS

  Mark Eden

  PHILIP BLAKE

  Anthony Marlowe

  MEREDITH BLAKE

  Laurence Hardy

  LADY MELKSHAM

  Lisa Daniely

  MISS WILLIAMS

  Margot Boyd

  ANGELA WARREN

  Dorothy Bromiley

  CAROLINE CRALE

  Ann Firbank

  AMYAS CRALE

  Nigel Green

  DIRECTED BY HUBERT GREGG

  Décor by MICHAEL WEIGHT

  SYNOPSIS OF SCENES

  ACT I

  London

  SCENE 1 A lawyer’s office

  SCENE 2 A City office

  SCENE 3 A room in an hotel suite

  SCENE 4 A bed-sitting-room

  SCENE 5 A table in a restaurant

  ACT II

  Alderbury, a house in the West of England

  Time—the present. Autumn

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Carla and her mother, Caroline Crale, are played by the same actress.

  As regards the characters in Act II, PHILIP is not greatly changed, but his hair is not grey at the temples, and he is more slender, his manner is less pompous. MEREDITH is less vague, and more alert, his face is less red, and there is no grey in his hair. There is very little change in MISS WILLIAMS, except that she is also not so grey. ANGELA can have plaits, or long hair. ELSA must present the greatest change from LADY MELKSHAM, young, and eager, with her hair on her neck. CAROLINE is distinguishable from CARLA by a different hair style, as well as by an older make-up. Her voice, too, must be different, deeper in tone, and her manner more impulsive and intense.

  Each scene of Act I represents a small portion of a room. In the original production the scenes were on trucks, but the whole of this Act can be quite simply staged by lighting up different parts of the stage in turn, or by cut-outs.

  ACT ONE

  Scene I

  SCENE—Justin Fogg’s room in the offices of Fogg, Fogg, Bamfylde and Fogg, Solicitors. An early autumn afternoon in London.

  The room is rather old-fashioned and cramped for space. The walls are lined with books. An arch up LC leads to the rest of the building and there is a sash window across the corner up R. A large desk and swivel chair stand in front of the window. There is a chair C for visitors, and a table covered with files is against the wall L. There is a telephone on the desk.

  When the CURTAIN rises, the stage is in darkness, then the LIGHTS come up. JUSTIN FOGG is seated at the desk, speaking into the telephone. The window is half-open. JUSTIN is a young man in the early thirties, sober, staid, but likeable.

  JUSTIN. (into the telephone) I quite see your point, Mrs. Ross, but the Law can’t be hurried, you know—

  (TURNBALL, an elderly clerk, appears in the archway. He is carrying a file)

  —we have to wait for their solicitors to reply to our letter . . .

  (TURNBALL coughs)

  (To Turnball) Come in, Turnball. (Into the telephone) No, it would be most inadvisable for you to take any steps yourself . . . Yes, we will keep you informed. (He replaces the receiver) Women!

  (TURNBALL places the file on the desk in front of Justin)

  Miss Le Marchant?

  TURNBALL. She’s here now, sir.

  JUSTIN. Show her in, Turnball. I don’t want any interruptions at all. Put anything urgent through to Mr. Grimes.

  TURNBALL. Very good, sir.

  (TURNBALL exits. JUSTIN rises, crosses to the table L, selects a file, returns to his desk, sits, and puts Turnball’s file in the desk drawer. TURNBALL re-enters and stands to one side)

  (He announces) Miss Le Marchant.

  (CARLA enters. She is aged twenty-one, pretty, and determined. She wears a coat and carries bag and gloves. She speaks with a Canadian accent. TURNBALL exits)

  JUSTIN. (rising, moving to Carla and offering his hand) How do you do?

  CARLA. How do you do, Mr. Fogg? (She looks at him in dismay, ignoring his outstretched hand) But you’re young!

  (JUSTIN looks at Carla for a moment, amused, although still formal)

  JUSTIN. Thank you. But I can assure you I’m a fully qualified solicitor.

  CARLA. I’m sorry—it’s just—that I expected you to be—rather old.

  JUSTIN. Oh, you expected my father? He died two years ago.

  CARLA. I see. I’m sorry. It was stupid of me. (She offers him her hand)

  (JUSTIN shakes hands with Carla)

  JUSTIN. (indicating the chair C) Do sit down.

  (CARLA sits C)

  (He returns to his desk and sits at it) Now, tell me what I can do for you.

  (There is a pause whilst CARLA looks at Justin, a little uncertain how to begin)

  CARLA. Do you know who I am?

  JUSTIN. Miss Carla Le Marchant of Montreal.

  CARLA. (looking away) My name isn’t really Le Marchant.

  JUSTIN. Oh, yes, it is. Legally.

  CARLA. (leaning forward) So—you do know all about me?

  JUSTIN. We have acted for Mr. Robert Le Marchant over a number of years.

  CARLA. All right, then, let’s get down to it. My name may be legally Le Marchant by adoption—or deed poll—or habeas corpus—or whatever the legal jargon is. (She removes her gloves) But I was born—(she pauses) Caroline Crale. Caroline was my mother’s name, too. My father was Amyas Crale. Sixteen years ago my mother stood her trial for poisoning my father. They found her—guilty. (She takes a deep breath. Defiantly) That’s right, isn’t it?

  JUSTIN. Yes, those are the facts.

  CARLA. I only learned them six months ago.

  JUSTIN. When you came of age?

  CARLA. Yes. I don’t think they wanted me to know. Uncle Robert and Aunt Bess, I mean. They brought me up believing my parents were killed in an accident when I was five years old. But my mother left a letter for me—to be given me when I was twenty-one, so they had to tell me all about it.

  JUSTIN. Unfortunate.

  CARLA. Do you mean you think they ought not to have told me?

  JUSTIN. No, no, I don’t mean that at all. I meant it was unfortunate for you—it must have been a bad shock.

  CARLA. Finding out that my father was murdered and that my mother did it?

  JUSTIN. (after a pause; kindly) There were—extenuating circumstances, you know.

  CARLA. (firmly) It’s not extenuating circ
umstances I’m interested in. It’s facts.

  JUSTIN. Yes, facts. Well, you’ve got your facts. Now—you can put the whole thing behind you. (He smiles encouragingly) It’s your future that matters now, you know, not the past. (He rises and crosses above the desk of the table L)

  CARLA. I think, before I can go forward—I’ve got to—go back.

  (JUSTIN, arrested and puzzled, turns to Carla)

  JUSTIN. I beg your pardon?

  CARLA. It’s not as simple as you make it sound. (She pauses) I’m engaged—or I was engaged—to be married.

  (JUSTIN picks up the cigarette box from the table L and offers it to CARLA who takes a cigarette)

  JUSTIN. I see. And your fiancé found out about all this?

  CARLA. Of course, I told him.

  JUSTIN. And he—er—reacted unfavourably? (He replaces the box on the table)

  CARLA. (without enthusiasm) Not at all. He was perfectly splendid. Said it didn’t matter at all.

  JUSTIN. (puzzled) Well, then?

  CARLA. (looking up at Justin) It isn’t what a person says . . . (She leaves it at that)

  JUSTIN. (after a moment) Yes, I see. (He lights Carla’s cigarette with the lighter from the table L) At least, I think I do.

  CARLA. Anyone can say things. It’s what they feel that matters.

  JUSTIN. Don’t you think that perhaps you’re super-sensitive?

  CARLA. (firmly) No.

  JUSTIN. But, my dear girl . . .

  CARLA. Would you like to marry the daughter of a murderess? (She looks at Justin)

  (JUSTIN looks down)

  (Quietly) You see, you wouldn’t.

  JUSTIN. You didn’t give me time to answer. I wouldn’t particularly want to marry the daughter of a murderer, or of a drunkard or of a dope-fiend or of anything else unpleasant. (He picks up the cigarette box, crosses above Carla to the desk and puts the lighter and cigarette box on it) But what the hell, if I loved a girl, she could be the daughter of Jack the Ripper for all I cared.

  CARLA. (looking around the room) I don’t believe you would mind as much as Jeff does. (She shivers)