Plays: Lady Frederick, The Explorer, A Man of Honour. Maugham William Somerset
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to marry a woman who's hopelessly immoral.
Mother, how dare you say that?
This isn't the sort of thing I much like, but hadn't you better hear the worst at once?
Very well. But if my mother insists on saying things, she must say them in Lady Frederick's presence.
That I'm quite willing to do.
Good.
You'd better take care, Maudie. Lady Frederick's a dangerous woman to play the fool with.
[To the servant.] Go to Lady Frederick Berolles and say Lord Mereston is extremely sorry to trouble her ladyship, but would be very much obliged if she'd come to the drawing-room for two minutes.
Very well, my lord.
What are you going to do, Maud?
I knew there was a letter in existence in Lady Frederick's handwriting which proved all I've said about her. I've moved heaven and earth to get hold of it, and it came this morning.
Don't be such a fool. You're not going to use that?
I am indeed.
Your blood be upon your own head. Unless I'm vastly mistaken you'll suffer the greatest humiliation that you can imagine.
That's absurd. I have nothing to fear.
I'm so sorry to disturb you. I hope you don't mind?
Not at all. I knew you wouldn't have sent for me in that fashion without good cause.
I'm afraid you'll think me dreadfully impertinent.
Really you need not apologise so much, Charlie.
My mother has something to say against you, and I think it right that she should say it in your presence.
That's very nice of you, Charlie – though I confess I prefer people to say horrid things of me only behind my back. Especially if they're true.
Look here, I think all this is rather nonsense. We've most of us got something in our past history that we don't want raked up, and we'd all better let bygones be bygones.
I'm waiting, Lady Mereston.
It's merely that I thought my son should know that Lady Frederick had been the mistress of Roger Bellingham. [Lady Frederick turns quickly and looks at her; then bursts into a peal of laughter. Lady Mereston springs up angrily and hands her a letter.] Is this in your handwriting?
[Not at all disconcerted.] Dear me, how did you get hold of this?
You see that I have ample proof, Lady Frederick.
[Handing the letter to Mereston.] Would you like to read it? You know my writing well enough to be able to answer Lady Mereston's question.
Good God!.. What does it mean?
Pray read it aloud.
I can't.
Then give it to me. [She takes it from him.] It's addressed to my brother-in-law, Peter Berolles. The Kate to whom it refers was his wife. [Reads.] Dear Peter: I'm sorry you should have had a row with Kate about Roger Bellingham. You are quite wrong in all you thought. There is absolutely nothing between them. I don't know where Kate was on Tuesday night, but certainly she was not within a hundred miles of Roger. This I know because…
[Interrupting.] For God's sake don't go on.
It's signed Elizabeth Berolles. And there's a postscript: You may make what use of this letter you like.
What does it mean? What does it mean?
Surely it's very clear? You can't want a more explicit confession of guilt.
I tried to make it as explicit as possible.
Won't you say something? I'm sure there must be some explanation.
I don't know how you got hold of this letter, Lady Mereston. I agree with you, it is compromising. But Kate and Peter are dead now, and there's nothing to prevent me from telling the truth.
My sister-in-law was a meek and mild little person, as demure as you can imagine, and no one would have suspected her for a moment of kicking over the traces. Well, one morning she came to me in floods of tears and confessed that she and Roger Bellingham [with a shrug] had been foolish. Her husband suspected that something was wrong and had kicked up a row.
[Drily.] There are men who will make a scene on the smallest provocation.
To shield herself she told the first lie that came into her head. She said to Peter that Roger Bellingham was my lover – and she threw herself on my mercy. She was a poor, weak little creature, and if there'd been a scandal she'd have gone to the dogs altogether. It had only been a momentary infatuation for Roger, and the scare had cured her. At the bottom of her heart she loved her husband still. I was desperately unhappy, and I didn't care much what became of me. She promised to turn over a new leaf and all that sort of thing. I thought I'd better give her another chance of going straight. I did what she wanted. I wrote that letter taking all the blame on myself, and Kate lived happily with her husband till she died.
It was just like you.
But Lord and Lady Peter are dead?
Yes.
And Roger Bellingham?
He's dead too.
Then how can you prove your account of this affair?
I can't.
And does this convince you, Charlie?
Of course.
[Impatiently.] Good heavens, the boy's out of his senses. Paradine, for Heaven's sake say something.
Well, much as it may displease you, my dear, I'm afraid I agree with Charlie.
You don't mean to say you believe this cock-and-bull story?
I do.
Why?
Well, you see, Lady Frederick's a very clever woman. She would never have invented such an utterly improbable tale, which can't possibly be proved. If she'd been guilty, she'd have had ready at least a dozen proofs of her innocence.
But that's absurd.
Besides,