Complete Works of Hall Caine, page 658
CAESAR.
(Going.) Very good! I’m not for forcing myself on anybody, Peter Quilliam. I’ll go!
PETE.
Leave me! Leave me!
CAESAR.
But we’ll take counsel together to-morrow on this serious matter.
PETE.
Leave me alone — leave me alone!
CAESAR.
(At door.) Remember, I’m advising nothing but what the law allows — mind that!
PETE.
Damn the law and you too!
(Exit CAESAR.)
(Enter NANCY, with child.)
Oh, Nancy, Nancy! For the Lord’s sake let me see the child! Let me look at something innocent and pure, for I’m choking with the dirt that man has made me swallow.
NANCY.
(Giving him the child.) Did you kick him?
PETE.
Not exactly kick, perhaps —
NANCY.
Did YOU swear?
PETE.
Something like it, maybe.
NANCY.
It must be a fine thing to be a man to swear at people like Caesar Cregeen.
PETE.
Aw, the beautiful it is! The bogh millish!
NANCY.
Gently with him. He’s asleep.
PETE.
Asleep, is he? The touch of him takes all the rough out of me, Nancy — all the bitter, bad thoughts! The darling! Daddy’s that glad to see your sweet angel face, little ‘un! He doesn’t know how he could live without you now! My child — hers and my own — Kirry’s child and mine! Leave him to me to-night, Nancy, and go to bed. He’ll do me good — put peace in my heart, bless him!
NANCY.
But if he wakes and cries what — will you do?
PETE.
What will I do? Rock him to sleep again, of course! Or perhaps you think I’ll be playing the drum to him! The sweet little lammie! There’s Kirry in every line of his little face. A bit of me, too, isn’t there, Nancy?
NANCY.
I should think there is indeed!
PETE.
Yet there’s something else in his little face, too! What does that look remind me of? I seem to remember something like it somewhere. I know! It’s like — (With a cry of alarm.) Nancy!
NANCY.
(In a fright.) What is it?
PETE.
Light me a candle.
(NANCY takes a candle off table and lights it by the fire.)
Did I ask for a candle?
NANCY.
You did that!
PETE.
For the Lord’s sake, hurry up with it, then.
NANCY.
(Giving him the candle.) Here it is!
PETE.
Nancy, do you see in my baby’s face —
NANCY.
What? What is it?
PETE.
(Harshly.) Nothing! Go off to bed at once.
NANCY.
Let me get baby’s nightdress first.
PETE.
I’ll do that myself. Off you go!
NANCY.
Well, it’s a fine temper you’re getting up all at once.
PETE.
Temper? Job had many a plague to try his temper and he kept it, but the Lord knew where he was weak, and didn’t send a woman to ask him questions. Off with you!
NANCY.
I’m going! But you needn’t shout the house down, anyway.
(Exit NANCY.)
PETE.
It’s nothing — nothing but the dirty suspicions that Caesar’s been putting into my head! What things a man will think when his heart is sore! Shame on you, Pete! If you can’t think better than that shut up your mind as you do your mouth, man. (To cradle?) Forgive me, my innocent angel — forgive your father the bad thoughts he was thinking about you! About your mammie, too — the big, blundering blockhead! Lie there, my beauty! Lie quiet till I bring your little nighty and wrap you snug in it to lie in your daddy’s arms.
(The door has opened slowly and KATE has looked in. Then PETE carrying candle goes slowly upstairs into room. KATE enters softly, looks upstairs, crosses, looks off, then comes down to cradle by fire.)
KATE.
My darling! My baby! Mother has come back to you! She couldn’t live without you and she’s come to take you away! Hush! Don’t cry! Come, my precious; You are mine and I am yours, and no power on earth shall part us again!
(She has taken the CHILD out of the cradle and is carrying it in her cloak, when PETE comes out of the room on to gallery. He has the candle in one hand and the child ‘s nightdress over the other arm. Slowly he comes downstairs. KATE sees him and draws lack into shadow.)
PETE.
(On stairs.) Who’s there? Who’s there?
KATE.
(Coming face to face with him.) Pete!
PETE.
(Almost sobbing with frightened joy.) Kate! Kirry! You’ve come back! You’ve come back to me, haven’t you? To lil’ Philip and me — you’ve come back to us, haven’t you?
KATE.
Oh, what can I say? What can I say?
PETE.
Where have you been, Kirry?
KATE.
I can’t tell you, Pete.
PETE.
Why did you leave us?
KATE.
Don’t ask me.
PETE.
Was it some fault of mine, Kirry — something I said without meaning it, maybe?
KATE.
Oh, let me go away again.
PETE.
Not yet, Kirry! God knows I’ve been patient enough, but I’m your husband, and I’ve a right to know why you went away. Why was it, Kirry? Tell me — why was it?
KATE.
Don’t ask me that, Pete.
PETE.
Kirry, the doctor said you were not yourself — you were hysterical — had a bit of a fever, too, and women in that state sometimes did things they didn’t mean to do. Perhaps that was the way with you, Kirry, when you ran away from me. But now you’re better and you’ve come back to lil’ Phil and me — that’s it, isn’t it? Say it is, Kirry, say it is, and there won’t be another word about it — not another word, so help me God!
KATE.
You’re too good to me, Pete — far too good. Let me go — I can’t bear it.
PETE.
Have you nothing else to say to me, Kirry?
KATE.
Nothing!
PETE.
Don’t think I want to keep you against your will, Kirry. It’s a poor whisp of a man who wants a woman’s body if someone else has her soul.
KATE.
Oh! oh!
PETE.
You’ve suffered since you went away — I can see that, Kirry.
KATE.
Oh! oh!
PETE.
It’s a woman’s way to love the man that does her wrong. Being good to her is nothing — service is nothing — kindness is nothing — giving herself body and soul and thinking nothing what she gets for it — that’s the way of a woman when she loves a man. But you loved somebody else and you couldn’t love me, could you, Kirry?
KATE.
Oh! oh!
PETE.
You couldn’t help it, woman! God help me, I know you couldn’t help it. Love can’t be guided by a rudder like a boat.
KATE.
Oh! oh! oh!
PETE.
You are my wife and God knows I love you still, but you shall be free to go where you will, Kirry.
KATE.
Let me go then —
PETE.
But before you go you must put lil’ Philip back in his cradle.
KATE.
I can’t.
PETE.
(Firmly.) Kate, you have robbed me of yourself, and now I’ve nothing in the world except that child. It’s the only thing I have left to keep my brain from going mad and my heart from breaking. Put it back, woman!
KATE.
I can’t! I can’t!
PETE.
Put it back, I say!
KATE.
I’m its mother and I must take it with me.
PETE.
And I’m its father and it belongs to me. Put back my child.
KATE.
It is not your child!
PETE.
(Reeling backward.) Not my child? Do you mean that?
KATE.
God pity and forgive me — yes!
(Dead silence, in which PETE seems to gasp for breath.)
KATE.
Now, you know why I must take it away with me. It is robbing you of your faith and confidence. My poor innocent darling is cheating you of your love.
PETE.
No child — no wife — both gone — lil’ Philip is not mine —
KATE.
You’ll let me go now, Pete — will you not? — to hide my sorrow and my shame? You shall never see me again. I’ll trouble you no more. Goodbye! (Crossing.)
PETE.
Stop! You cannot leave my house to-night.
KATE.
(Stopping.) You are my husband — if you tell me to do anything I will obey.
PETE.
Then take my — take the child and go up to your old room — the same we came home to on our wedding day. Let the lil’ lammie lie on your breast to-night as it used to, you know. Maybe in the morning we’ll know better what to do.
KATE.
(Crossing.) And you, Pete?
PETE.
(Lighting candle.) Don’t trouble about me. I’m only a rough-and-tumble chap — I’ll take care of myself somehow. Here’s the candle — and here’s baby’s little nighty. Now go — good-night!
KATE.
(Going slowly upstairs.) Good-night, Pete! (With a breaking sob.) God bless you!
(KATE goes slowly upstairs with Baby.)
(PETE stands watching her off. Then with a great effort, stops himself from crying aloud. Goes to door, locks it, putting key in his pocket. Then to foot of stairs and falls on his knees. Rises, goes to his coat and takes pipe and pouch out of his pocket. Puts candle out with extinguisher. Crosses to fireplace, lights pipe by a spill from mantelpiece. Gets stool and sits by fire looking fixedly into the empty cradle. Then mechanically he begins to rock it. The clock strikes twelve.)
(Light dies out slowly. Darkness.)
* * * * *
(The light gradually grows again. PETE is seen sitting where we left him, but his arm is on the back of the chair and his head is buried in it; he is asleep. The sun shines into the room; birds twitter; a dog barks.)
(NANCY appears in the gallery, bustles down the stairs to door A, which she tries to unlock, but she finds the key gone. She looks round in astonishment and sees PETE.)
NANCY.
Lord-a-massy me! (She crosses to him, touches him on the shoulder, shakes him.) Capt’n Pete! Capt’n Pe-ter!
PETE.
(Starting awake.) Eh? What is it? (Suddenly remembering.) Oh! oh! oh! (Rising.) What’s amiss, Nancy?
NANCY.
The mistress will be coming down presently.
PETE.
Did she sleep?
NANCY.
Not a wink the night through. I heard her sobbing in her room — that was how I knew she had come home so unexpected.
PETE.
Sobbing, you say?
NANCY.
Fit to break her heart — and mine too.
PETE.
My poor girl! My poor Kirry!
NANCY.
Give me the key of the door.
PETE.
Here it is!
NANCY.
You locked her in — didn’t you?
PETE.
I did that, Nancy.
NANCY.
(Unlocking and opening door.) Well, you needn’t. She won’t run away, I’m thinking.
PETE.
Somebody else will, then, Nancy woman.
(Dragging out trunk of Act 1. from under stairs.)
NANCY.
You’re never thinking of going away yourself, Capt’n Pete?
PETE.
Never mind what I’m thinking of. Light the fire and make me a cup of tea, Nancy.
NANCY.
(Taking wood out of basket and splitting it with a chopper.) I will, Capt’n Pete.
PETE.
Make it strong, d’ye hear?
NANCY.
Sure! What are you doing with that old thing?
PETE.
Can’t you see? Mending it, of course.
NANCY.
(Laying fire and putting light to it.) Don’t do it, Capt’n Pete. Don’t you go and do it. Because you’ve had words and made a false start, don’t go and throw your happiness out of window.
PETE.
It’s flown out of window without any of my doing, Nancy.
NANCY.
Then stay where you are, and it’ll fly in again.
PETE.
Never!
NANCY.
Never’s a long time, Capt’n Pete.
PETE.
Put on the kettle and slip away for Billy Kinnish’s trap to take me to the train.
NANCY.
Won’t you tell me where you’re going to, then?
PETE.
(Sitting on trunk.) I’m going to London.
NANCY.
Goodness me! That wicked place! What for?
PETE.
(Fiercely.) To see a man.
NANCY.
Lord-a-massy! All that way to see a man! There’s lots of ‘em here, isn’t there?
PETE.
(More fiercely.) A particular man.
NANCY.
You can’t have such important business —
PETE.
(Still more fiercely.) We have though him and me — very important business. So go and get the trap, woman —
NANCY.
Well, I never! (She is going out, when she runs into CAESAR as he enters.)
NANCY.
Oh, it’s you, is it? Up early and down late and always bringing bad luck.
CAESAR.
Where’s your master?
NANCY.
Find him!
(Exit.)
CAESAR.
(Seeing PETE.) Peter Quilliam!
PETE.
(Going on with his work at trunk.) Well?
CAESAR.
No doubt you’re surprised at this visit after your Treatment of myself last night.
PETE.
I am a bit surprised at it, Caesar.
CAESAR.
You lifted your hand to me, Mr. Quilliam.
PETE.
I did that, Caesar.
CAESAR.
I remember the day when if a man had lifted his hand to me I should have chopped him from crown to chin — but I’m a man of peace now, and a restraining grace preserved you.
PETE.
Wonderful the change in us as we grow wiser, Caesar.
CAESAR.
I wrestled in spirit for you the whole night through.
PETE.
Mortal good of you, I’m sure. I am feeling a bit easier inside, I think.
CAESAR.
And this morning my reward came to me.
PETE.
Reward?
CAESAR.
News, Peter Quilliam, great news! Your enemy is in your hand — Ross Christian has returned to the island. His father is a ruined man. The son has been a besom of fire and burnt up everything. I told you last night how to strike him. The way is ready — the time is now!
(Enter PHILIP CHRISTIAN, looking pale and worn.)
PETE.
(With a loud cry.) (Throwing down the chopper.) Oh! Phil! Phil! She’s back! Kirry’s back!
PHILIP.
I know — I’ve just heard of it from Nancy.
CAESAR.
Back, you say? My daughter?
PETE.
True enough, Caesar, but you were so busy with the texes I had no time to tell you.
CAESAR.
Then they must have returned together! The son of Satan! The son of Belial! Curse him! Curse him!
PHILIP.
Of whom are you speaking, Mr. Cregeen?
CAESAR.
Of your own cousin, Deemster — of Ross Christian, the man who has humbled me and disgraced my daughter.
PHILIP.
No, no, it was not he, Caesar.
CAESAR.
You are too good a man yourself to think evil of others, Deemster; but he it was and no other.
PHILIP.
No, no, I tell you, no!
CAESAR.
I met him myself this morning, sir. I taxed him with it. He did not deny.
PHILIP.
He did not deny?
CAESAR.
On the contrary, he laughed and jeered.
PETE.
Laughed and jeered, did he?
CAESAR.
He did, sinner as he is — laughed and jeered as he left me on the road.
PETE.
(Picking up chopper.) Which way did he go?
CAESAR.
Towards Ballawhaine.
PETE.
Excuse me, Phil — I think I must go towards Ballawhaine.
PHILIP.
What are you going to do, Pete?
PETE.
What would you do if you were in my place? If a man had robbed you of the love of your wife, and then come back and laughed and jeered as if it were a joke — what would you do, Deemster? Wouldn’t you take an axe like this and brain him as if he were a brute?
PHILIP.
I would, Pete, I would!
PETE.
(Going.) And so will I!
PHILIP.
Do it then! Do it! The guilty man is here! I am he!
(Dead silence for a moment.)
PETE.
(Stunned.) Phil! Phil! What are you saying?
PHILIP.
It’s true.
CAESAR.
Deemster, do you mean to say it was not your cousin, but yourself —
PETE.
My friend — my chum — my brother — the man I loved and trusted more than anybody in the world!
PHILIP.
Yes, yes!
PETE.
(With frightful anger.) Scoundrel! Traitor! Hypocrite! Hound! Let me kill him! (Makes for PHILIP.)
CAESAR.
(Lays hold of PETE, struggling with him.) Stop! Are you mad?
