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.