Fanny and the Servant Problem

VERNON. Good! And all the family?

BENNET. Nothing to complain of. Charles has had a touch of influenza.

VERNON. Ah, sorry to hear that.

BENNET. And your lordship?

VERNON. Fit as a fiddle – your new mistress.

Fanny has risen. Bennet turns to her. For a moment his back is towards the other three. Fanny alone sees his face.

BENNET. We shall endeavour to do our duty to her ladyship. [He turns to Vernon.] I had arranged for a more fitting reception —

VERNON. To tell the honest truth, Bennet, the very thing we were afraid of – why we walked from the station, and slipped in by the side door. [Laughing.] Has the luggage come?

BENNET. It has just arrived. It was about that I came to ask. I could not understand —

The Misses Wetherell have also risen. Fanny’s speechless amazement is attributed by them and Vernon to natural astonishment at discovery of his rank.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. You will be wanting a quiet talk together. We shall see you at dinner.

VERNON. What time is dinner?

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Half past seven. [To Fanny] But don’t you hurry, dear. I will tell cook to delay it a little. [She kisses her.]

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. You will want some time to arrange that pretty hair of yours. [She also kisses the passive, speechless Fanny. They go out hand in hand.]

BENNET. I will see, while I am here, that your lordship’s room is in order.

VERNON. Why, where’s Robert, then?

BENNET. He has gone into town to do some shopping. We did not expect your lordship much before nine. There may be one or two things to see to. [He goes into his lordship’s apartments, closing the door behind him.]

FANNY. Vernon, where am I?

VERNON. At home, dear.

FANNY. Yes, but where?

VERNON. At Bantock Hall, Rutlandshire. [Fanny sits down on the settee – drops down rather.] You’re not angry with me? You know how the world always talks in these cases. I wanted to be able to prove to them all that you married me for myself. Not because I was Lord Bantock. Can you forgive me?

FANNY [she still seems in a dream]. Yes – of course. You didn’t – you wouldn’t – [She suddenly springs up.] Vernon, you do love me? [She flings her arms round his neck.]

VERNON. Dear!

FANNY. You will never be ashamed of me?

VERNON. Dearest!

FANNY. I was only a music-hall singer. There’s no getting over it, you know.

VERNON. I should have loved you had you been a beggar-maid.

FANNY [she still clings to him]. With an uncle a costermonger, and an aunt who sold matches. It wouldn’t have made any difference to you, would it? You didn’t marry me for my family, did you? You didn’t, did you?

VERNON. Darling! I married you because you are the most fascinating, the most lovable, the most wonderful little woman in the world. [Fanny gives a sob.] As for your family – I’ve got a confession to make to you, dear. I made inquiries about your family before I proposed to you. Not for my own sake – because I knew I’d have to answer a lot of stupid questions. It seemed to me quite a good family.

FANNY. It is! Oh, it is! There never was such a respectable family. That’s why I never could get on with them.

VERNON [laughing]. Well, you haven’t got to – any more. We needn’t even let them know —

Bennet returns.

BENNET. Robert I find has returned. It is ten minutes to seven.

VERNON. Thanks. Well, I shall be glad of a bath. [He turns to Fanny.] Bennet will send your maid to you. [He whispers to her.] You’ll soon get used to it all. As for the confounded family – we will forget all about them. [Fanny answers with another little stifled sob. Bennet is drawing the curtains, his back to the room. Vernon, seeing that Bennet is occupied, kisses the unresponsive Fanny and goes out.]

At the sound of the closing of the door, Fanny looks up. She goes to the door through which Vernon has just passed, listens a moment, then returns. Bennet calmly finishes the drawing of the curtains. Then he, too, crosses slowly till he and Fanny are facing one another across the centre of the room.

FANNY. Well, what are you going to do?

BENNET. My duty!

FANNY. What’s that? Something unpleasant, I know. I can bet my bottom dollar.

BENNET. That, my girl, will depend upon you.

FANNY. How upon me?

BENNET. Whether you prove an easy or a difficult subject. To fit you for your position, a certain amount of training will, I fancy, be necessary.

FANNY. Training! I’m to be – [She draws herself up.] Are you aware who I am?

BENNET. Oh yes. And who you were. His lordship, I take it, would hardly relish the discovery that he had married his butler’s niece. He might consider the situation awkward.

FANNY. And who’s going to train me?

BENNET. I am. With the assistance of your aunt and such other members of your family as I consider can be trusted.

FANNY [for a moment she is speechless, then she bursts out]. That ends it! I shall tell him! I shall tell him this very moment. [She sweeps towards the door.]

BENNET. At this moment you will most likely find his lordship in his bath.

FANNY. I don’t care! Do you think – do you think for a moment that I’m going to allow myself – I, Lady Bantock, to be – [Her hand upon the door.] I shall tell him, and you’ll only have yourself to blame. He loves me. He loves me for myself. I shall tell him the whole truth, and ask him to give you all the sack.

BENNET. You’re not forgetting that you’ve already told him once who you were?

[It stops her. What she really did was to leave the marriage arrangements in the hands of her business manager, George P. Newte. As agent for a music-hall star, he is ideal, but it is possible that in answering Lord Bantock’s inquiries concerning Fanny’s antecedents he may not have kept strictly to the truth.]

FANNY. I never did. I’ve never told him anything about my family.

BENNET. Curious. I was given to understand it was rather a classy affair.

FANNY. I can’t help what other people may have done. Because some silly idiot of a man may possibly – [She will try a new tack. She leaves the door and comes to him.] Uncle, dear, wouldn’t it be simpler for you all to go away? He’s awfully fond of me. He’ll do anything I ask him. I could merely say that I didn’t like you and get him to pension you off. You and aunt could have a little roadside inn somewhere – with ivy.

BENNET. Seeing that together with the stables and the garden there are twenty-three of us —

FANNY. No, of course, he couldn’t pension you all. You couldn’t expect —

BENNET. I think his lordship might prefer to leave things as they are. Good servants nowadays are not so easily replaced. And neither your aunt nor I are at an age when change appeals to one.

FANNY. You see, it’s almost bound to creep out sooner or later, and then —

BENNET. We will make it as late as possible [He crosses and rings the bell], giving you time to prove to his lordship that you are not incapable of learning.

FANNY [she drops back on the settee. She is half-crying.] Some people would be pleased that their niece had married well.

BENNET. I am old-fashioned enough to think also of my duty to those I serve. If his lordship has done me the honour to marry my niece, the least I can is to see to it that she brings no discredit to his name. [Mrs. Bennet, followed by Jane Bennet, a severe-looking woman of middle age, has entered upon the words “the least I can do.” Bennet stays them a moment with his hand while he finishes. Then he turns to his wife.] You will be interested to find, Susannah, that the new Lady Bantock is not a stranger.

MRS. BENNET. Not a stranger! [She has reached a position from where she sees the girl.] Fanny! You wicked girl! Where have you been all these years?

BENNET [interposing]. There will be other opportunities for the discussion of family differences. Just now, her ladyship is waiting to dress for dinner.

MRS. BENNET [sneering]. Her ladyship!

JANE [also sneering]. I think she might have forewarned us of the honour in store for us.

MRS. BENNET. Yes, why didn’t she write?

FANNY. Because I didn’t know. Do you think – [she rises] – that if I had I would ever have married him – to be brought back here and put in this ridiculous position? Do you think that I am so fond of you all that I couldn’t keep away from you, at any price?

MRS. BENNET. But you must have known that Lord Bantock —

FANNY. I didn’t know he was Lord Bantock. I only knew him as Mr. Wetherell, an artist. He wanted to feel sure that I was marrying him for himself alone. He never told me – [Ernest Bennet, a very young footman, has entered in answer to Bennet’s ring of a minute ago. He has come forward step by step, staring all the while open-mouthed at Fanny. Turning, she sees him beside her.] Hulloa, Ernie. How are the rabbits? [She kisses him.]

BENNET. Don’t stand there gaping. I rang for some wood. Tell your brother dinner will be at a quarter to eight.

Ernest, never speaking, still staring at Fanny, gets clumsily out again.

FANNY. Well, I suppose I’d better see about dressing? Do I dine with his lordship or in the servants’ hall?

MRS. BENNET [turns to her husband]. You see! Still the old impertinence.

FANNY. Only wanted to know. My only desire is to give satisfaction.

BENNET [he moves towards the door]. You will do it by treating the matter more seriously. At dinner, by keeping your eye upon me, you will be able to tell whether you are behaving yourself or not.

MRS. BENNET. And mind you are punctual. I have appointed Jane to be your maid.

FANNY. Jane!

MRS. BENNET [in arms]. Have you any objections?

FANNY. No, oh no, so long as you’re all satisfied.

MRS. BENNET. Remember, you are no longer on the music-hall stage. In dressing for Bantock Hall you will do well to follow her advice.

Bennet, who has been waiting with the door in his hand, goes out; Mrs. Bennet follows.

JANE [in the tones of a patient executioner]. Are you ready?

FANNY. Quite ready, dear. Of course – I don’t know what you will think of them – but I’ve only brought modern costumes with me.

JANE [not a lady who understands satire]. We must do the best we can. [She marches out – into the dressing-room.]

Fanny, after following a few steps, stops and thinks. Ernest has entered with the wood. He is piling it in the basket by the fire. His entrance decides her. She glances through the open door of the dressing-room, then flies across to the desk, seats herself, and begins feverishly to write a telegram.

FANNY. Ernie! [He comes across to her.] Have you still got your bicycle?

ERNEST. Yes.

FANNY. Could you get this telegram off for me before eight o’clock? I don’t want it sent from the village; I want you to take it yourself– into the town. There’s a sovereign for you if you do it all right.

ERNEST. I’ll do it. Can only get into a row.

FANNY. Pretty used to them, ain’t you? [She has risen. She gives him the telegram. She has stamped it.] Can you read it?

ERNEST. “George P. Newte.”

FANNY. Hush!

They both glance at the open door.

ERNEST [he continues in a lower voice]. “72A, Waterloo Bridge Road, London. Must see you at once. Am at the new shop.” [He looks up.]

FANNY. That’s all right.

ERNEST. “Come down. Q.T. Fanny.”

FANNY [nods]. Get off quietly. I’ll see you again —

THE VOICE OF JANE [from the dressing-room]. Are you going to keep me waiting all night?

[They start. Ernest hastily thrusts the telegram into his breast-pocket.]

FANNY. Coming, dear, coming. [To Ernest] Not a word to anyone! [She hurries him out and closes door behind him.] Merely been putting the room a bit tidy. [She is flying round collecting her outdoor garments.] Thought it would please you. So sorry if I’ve kept you waiting. [Jane has appeared at door.] After you, dear.

Jane goes out again. Fanny, with her pile of luggage, follows.