The Master of Mrs. Chilvers: an Improbable Comedy

Part 1

Transcribed from the 1911 T. Fisher Unwin edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org

THE MASTER of MRS. CHILVERS

AN IMPROBABLE COMEDY

IMAGINED BY

JEROME K. JERMONE

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LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN ADELPHI TERRACE

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COPYRIGHT 1911 BY JEROME K. JEROME IN THE U.S.A.

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(All rights reserved.)

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THE FIRST ACT SCENE: Drawing-room, 91, Russell Square. TIME: 3 p.m.

THE SECOND ACT SCENE: Liberal Committee Room, East India Dock Road. TIME: 5 p.m.

THE THIRD ACT SCENE: The Town Hall, East Poplar. TIME: 10 p.m.

THE FOURTH ACT SCENE: Russell Square TIME: Midnight

THE CAST OF “THE MASTER OF MRS. CHILVERS”

AS IT WAS PRODUCED AT THE ROYALTY THEATRE, LONDON, ON APRIL 26TH, 1911, UNDER THE MANAGEMENT OF MESSRS. VEDRENNE & EADIE.

Lady Mogton MARY RORKE Annys Chilvers LENA ASHWELL Phoebe Mogton ETHEL DANE Janet Blake GILLIAN SCAIFE Mrs. Mountcalm Villiers SARAH BROOKE Elizabeth Spender AURIOL LEE Rose Merton ESME BERINGER Mrs. Chinn SYDNEY FAIRBROTHER Geoffrey Chilvers, M.P. DENNIS EADIE Dorian St. Herbert LEON QUARTERMAINE Ben Lamb, M.P. A. E. BENEDICT William Gordon EDMUND GWENN Sigsby MICHAEL SHERBROOKE Hake H. B. TABBERER Mr. Peekin GERALD MIRRIELEES Mr. Hopper STANLEY LOGAN Mrs. Peekin ROWENA JEROME Miss Borlasse CATHLEEN NESBITT Miss Ricketts HETTA BARTLETT

CHARACTERS IN THE PLAY

GEOFFREY CHILVERS, M.P. A loving husband, and (would-be) (President Men’s League for the affectionate father. Like many Extension of the Franchise to other good men, he is in sympathy Women) with the Woman’s Movement: “not thinking it is coming in his time.” ANNYS CHILVERS (née Mogton, A loving wife, and (would-be) Hon. Sec. Women’s Parliamentary affection mother. Many thousands Franchise League) of years have gone to her making. A generation ago, she would have been the ideal woman: the ideal helpmeet. But new ideas are stirring in her blood, a new ideal of womanhood is forcing itself upon her. LADY MOGTON (President She knows she would be of more W.P.F.L.) use in Parliament than many of the men who are there; is naturally annoyed at the Law’s stupidity in keeping her out. PHOEBE MOGTON (Org. Sec. The new girl, thinking more of W.P.F.L.) politics than of boys. But that will probably pass. JANET BLAKE (Jt. Org. Sec. She dreams of a new heaven and a W.P.F.L.) new earth when woman has the vote. MRS. MOUNTCALM VILLIERS She was getting tired of (Vice-President W.P.F.L.) flirting. The Woman’s Movement has arrived just at the right moment. ELIZABETH SPENDER (Hons. Treas. She sees woman everywhere the W.P.F.L.) slave of man: now pampered, now beaten, but ever the slave. She can see no hope of freedom but through warfare. MRS. CHINN A mother. JAWBONES A bill-poster. Movements that do not fit in with the essentials of life on thirty shillings a week have no message so far as Jawbones is concerned. GINGER Whose proper name is Rose Merton, and who has to reconcile herself to the fact that so far as her class is concerned the primæval laws still run. DORIAN ST. HERBERT (Hon. Sec. He is interested in all things, M.L.E.F.W.) the Woman’s Movement included. BEN LAMB, M.P. As a student of woman, he admits to being in the infants’ class. SIGSBY An Election Agent. He thinks the modern woman suffers from over-indulgence. He would recommend to her the teachings of St. Paul. HAKE A butler. He does not see how to avoid his wife being practically a domestic servant without wages. A DEPUTATION It consists of two men and three women. Superior people would call them Cranks. But Cranks have been of some service to the world, and the use of superior people is still to be discovered.

THE FIRST ACT

SCENE:—Drawing-room, 91, Russell Square.

TIME:—Afternoon.

(MRS. ELIZABETH SPENDER sits near the fire, reading a book. She is a tall, thin woman, with passionate eyes, set in an oval face of olive complexion; the features are regular and severe; her massive dark hair is almost primly arranged. She wears a tailor-made costume, surmounted by a plain black hat. The door opens and PHOEBE enters, shown in by HAKE, the butler, a thin, ascetic-looking man of about thirty, with prematurely grey hair. PHOEBE MOGTON is of the Fluffy Ruffles type, petite, with a retroussé nose, remarkably bright eyes, and a quantity of fluffy light hair, somewhat untidily arranged. She is fashionably dressed in the fussy, flyaway style. ELIZABETH looks up; the two young women shake hands.)

PHOEBE. Good woman. ’Tisn’t three o’clock yet, is it?

ELIZABETH. About five minutes to.

PHOEBE. Annys is on her way. I just caught her in time. (To HAKE.) Put a table and six chairs. Give mamma a hammer and a cushion at her back.

Part 2

HAKE. A hammer, miss?

PHOEBE. A chairman’s hammer. Haven’t you got one?

HAKE. I’m afraid not, miss. Would a gravy spoon do?

PHOEBE (To ELIZABETH, after expression of disgust.) Fancy a house without a chairman’s hammer! (To HAKE.) See that there’s something. Did your wife go to the meeting last night?

HAKE (He is arranging furniture according to instructions.) I’m not quite sure, miss. I gave her the evening out.

PHOEBE. “Gave her the evening out”!

ELIZABETH. We are speaking of your wife, man, not your servant.

HAKE. Yes, miss. You see, we don’t keep servants in our class. Somebody’s got to put the children to bed.

ELIZABETH. Why not the man—occasionally?

HAKE. Well, you see, miss, in my case, I rarely getting home much before midnight, it would make it so late. Yesterday being my night off, things fitted in, so to speak. Will there be any writing, miss?

PHOEBE. Yes. See that there’s plenty of blotting-paper. (To ELIZABETH.) Mamma always splashes so.

HAKE. Yes, miss.

(He goes out.)

ELIZABETH. Did you ever hear anything more delightfully naïve? He “gave” her the evening out. That’s how they think of us—as their servants. The gentleman hasn’t the courage to be straightforward about it. The butler blurts out the truth. Why are we meeting here instead of at our own place?

PHOEBE. For secrecy, I expect. Too many gasbags always about the office. I fancy—I’m not quite sure—that mamma’s got a new idea.

ELIZABETH. Leading to Holloway?

PHOEBE. Well, most roads lead there.

ELIZABETH. And end there—so far as I can see.

PHOEBE. You’re too impatient.

ELIZABETH. It’s what our friends have been telling us—for the last fifty years.

PHOEBE. Look here, if it was only the usual sort of thing mamma wouldn’t want it kept secret. I’m inclined to think it’s a new departure altogether.

(The door opens. There enters JANET BLAKE, followed by HAKE, who proceeds with his work. JANET BLAKE is a slight, fragile-looking creature, her great dark eyes—the eyes of a fanatic—emphasise the pallor of her childish face. She is shabbily dressed; a plain, uninteresting girl until she smiles, and then her face becomes quite beautiful. PHOEBE darts to meet her.) Good girl. Was afraid—I say, you’re wet through.

JANET. It was only a shower. The ’buses were all full. I had to ride outside.

PHOEBE. Silly kid, why didn’t you take a cab?

JANET. I’ve been reckoning it up. I’ve been half over London chasing Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers. Cabs would have come, at the very least, to twelve-and-six.

PHOEBE. Well—

JANET (To ELIZABETH.) Well—I want you to put me down as a contributor for twelve-and-six. (She smiles.) It’s the only way I can give.

PHOEBE. (She is taking off JANET’S cloak; throws it to HAKE.) Have this put somewhere to dry. (She pushes JANET to the fire.) Get near the fire. You’re as cold as ice.

Part 3

ELIZABETH. All the seats inside, I suppose, occupied by the chivalrous sex.

JANET. Oh, there was one young fellow offered to give me up his place, but I wouldn’t let him. You see, we’re claiming equality. (Smiles.)

ELIZABETH. And are being granted it—in every direction where it works to the convenience of man.

PHOEBE. (Laughs.) Is she coming—the Villiers woman?

JANET. Yes. I ran her down at last—at her dress-maker’s. She made an awful fuss about it, but I wouldn’t leave till she’d promised. Tell me, it’s something quite important, isn’t it?

PHOEBE. I don’t know anything, except that I had an urgent telegram from mamma this morning to call a meeting of the entire Council here at three o’clock. She’s coming up from Manchester on purpose. (To HAKE.) Mrs. Chilvers hasn’t returned yet, has she?

HAKE. Not yet, miss. Shall I telephone—

PHOEBE. (Shakes her head.) No; it’s all right. I have seen her. Let her know we are here the moment she comes in.

HAKE. Yes, miss.

(He has finished the arrangements. The table has been placed in the centre of the room, six chairs round it, one of them being a large armchair. He has placed writing materials and a large silver gravy spoon. He is going.)

PHOEBE. Why aren’t you sure your wife wasn’t at the meeting last night? Didn’t she say anything?

HAKE. Well, miss, unfortunately, just as she was starting, Mrs. Comerford—that’s the wife of the party that keeps the shop downstairs—looked in with an order for the theatre.

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