Act 3 — Scene 2

Scene 2: Cavendish Square, MANNOCK’S library.

It is afternoon, two days later. MANNOCK is alone, restlessly doing nothing. ARTHUR comes in.

ARTHUR. Busy?

MANNOCK (looking up). No ... no.

ARTHUR. Thought I’d say good-bye. I’m just off.

MANNOCK. Off?

ARTHUR. Yes, that’s right, isn’t it? You said you didn’t want me till the end of the month.

MANNOCK (remembering). Oh!... Oh, yes. (He remembers that now he won’t want ARTHUR at all) Yes. (With an effort) What are you going to do?

ARTHUR. Going to Marjory’s for a week. Then down to Cornwall for a little golf.

MANNOCK (remembering his elder daughter). Marjory.... Yes. (How complicated life is!)

ARTHUR. Any messages for any of them?

MANNOCK. Yes—no. I’ll write. (To himself) Yes, I shall have to write to Marjory.

ARTHUR. Right. Then if I’m back by the 30th, that will do?

MANNOCK (after a silence). Arthur!

ARTHUR. Yes?

MANNOCK. I’ve sent in my resignation.

ARTHUR. Your resignation? Why? Oh, I see. The old resignation stunt. Hasn’t that been rather overdone?

MANNOCK. You don’t understand, Arthur⁠——

ARTHUR. All these political tactics—there’s something so tawdry about them, so shoddy, so⁠——Sorry, Father, I was forgetting. I’m a neutral now. Well, I suppose I shall get used to them.

MANNOCK. I say again, I have resigned my seat in the Cabinet.

ARTHUR (with a smile). If you’re not careful, the P.M. will accept it, and then where will you be?

MANNOCK (sharply). Out of the Cabinet, which is where I want to be.

ARTHUR. Not really? Why? (MANNOCK shrugs his shoulders.) No, but why, Father?

MANNOCK. I’m tired of it. I want to get out of it all.

ARTHUR (eagerly). I say! You’re not crossing over, are you? How terribly sporting of you!

MANNOCK (firmly). I’m giving up politics altogether.

ARTHUR (his jaw falling). Giving up⁠——? Then what about me?

MANNOCK. That’s been worrying me.

ARTHUR. Worrying you! I should think it had! You made me chuck a jolly good job to come to you, and then when it’s been filled up by somebody else⁠——

MANNOCK. Are you sure? I hoped that perhaps⁠——

ARTHUR (shaking his head gravely). I say, Father, this really is a bit steep.

MANNOCK (humbly). I’m very sorry, Arthur. I’m to blame. I never ought to have persuaded you to come to me. It was your career to choose for yourself. I’m sorry.

ARTHUR (still aggrieved). You practically ruin a man’s life⁠——

MANNOCK (smiling sadly). Twenty-two, aren’t you? No man’s life is ruined at twenty-two. (With sudden emotion) Oh, my God, to be twenty-two again!

ARTHUR. Well, but I mean⁠——

MANNOCK. Arthur, forget all that I’ve said to you, will you, just for a week? Enjoy yourself at Marjory’s, don’t say anything to her about it, and I’ll write to you. I can’t talk about it now—not for another week. Will you do that for me?

ARTHUR (reluctantly). Oh, all right. (Looking thoughtfully at his father) You know, I believe it is a stunt, after all. A super-stunt. I don’t know what the game is⁠——

Enter DIGBY.

DIGBY. Mr. Eversley is here, sir.

MANNOCK. Yes, that’s right, Digby. Show him in here.

ARTHUR (to DIGBY). Is the car here?

DIGBY. Yes, sir.

[He goes out.

ARTHUR. Then I’ll be getting on. (Holding out his hand) Good-bye, Father—and I’ll wait for your letter.

MANNOCK. Yes. (Taking his hand) Good-bye, Arthur. (When will he see him again?) Good-bye, old boy. Good luck to you always.

ARTHUR (a little surprised). Thanks!

[He goes out.

(MANNOCK walks up and down, thinking, thinking. How difficult it all is!... Then DIGBY announces EVERSLEY.)

DIGBY. Mr. Eversley.

MANNOCK (eagerly). I knew you would come. (To DIGBY, who still waits) What is it? (DIGBY presents a letter) Oh, put it down. (DIGBY walks across to the writing-desk and places the letter there) Were you in London, or did I drag you up from the country? I had to see you.

[DIGBY goes out.

EVERSLEY. Well, I was at home, but of course I was only too glad to come up, if you wanted me.

MANNOCK (looking at him fondly) I never ought to have let you go, Teddy. I ought always to have kept you with me.

EVERSLEY (happy at the “Teddy”). And what should I have been doing all the time?

MANNOCK (settling him in a chair). Nothing. Just admiring me. What else is a Squier for?

EVERSLEY. What else? The world is full of Nites and Squiers—the admired and the admiring. I wonder which are the happier?

MANNOCK (gently). The loved and the loving.

EVERSLEY. Yes. Which are the happier, Dick?

MANNOCK (suddenly, after a little silence). Got your pipe with you? (EVERSLEY nods.) Well, fill it, then.

EVERSLEY (taking it out). It is filled.

MANNOCK. Well, light it, then.

EVERSLEY (lighting it). There! (He smokes.)

MANNOCK. Teddy, I’m giving it all up.

EVERSLEY. All what?

MANNOCK. Everything. Politics. My career. My successful career.

EVERSLEY (smoking placidly). Any particular reason?

(MANNOCK looks at him, and hesitates. Then he gives reasons—but not the particular reason.)

MANNOCK. It’s odd how wrapped up in my career I have been. I never saw it from outside. I’ve been looking at it lately. I think it was you—that other night—who made me struggle outside and look at it. You were the first. That was the beginning of it.

EVERSLEY. I had no idea I was precipitating a political crisis. What did I say?

MANNOCK. You said, “And then success closed in on you.”

EVERSLEY. Yes, I remember. But I apologised for it.

MANNOCK. It’s a stifling thing, success. It shuts out so much. (Gently) All the lovely things, all the precious things ... I’ve been looking back at my career. After all, he’s in a position of trust, a Cabinet Minister. He is responsible for the happiness of the people, his fellow countrymen and women. How often have I thought of their happiness? How often of my personal triumph—my success? What are all our intrigues for, our strategy, our tactics? To improve the condition of England? Or to improve our personal position? I look back on my career, and never once can I say, “He did that for others.”

EVERSLEY. The others are no better.

MANNOCK. That isn’t a very proud thought for⁠——

EVERSLEY. For a Dreadnought Nite?

MANNOCK. Don’t!... Oh, my God, to be twenty-two again!

EVERSLEY. What would you do?

MANNOCK. Live. There is so much that I have missed. All the lovely things of life. But, perhaps, even now, it isn’t too late.

EVERSLEY (after smoking in silence for a little). And so you’re giving it all up?

MANNOCK. Yes. This is between ourselves, of course, until it is made public.

EVERSLEY. Of course.... It’s a big career to give up, as the world judges it.

MANNOCK (a little vain of his sacrifice). I suppose it is.

EVERSLEY. They were talking politics in the train—as they always do—and one or two of them were saying that you ought to be the new Chancellor of the Exchequer.

MANNOCK (pleased). Oh? Oh, but I shouldn’t have been anyhow. Mowbray.

EVERSLEY. They didn’t seem to think very much of Mowbray.

MANNOCK. He’s the obvious man.

EVERSLEY. A little too obvious, they felt....

MANNOCK (after a pause). It was my one ambition in the old days.

EVERSLEY (smiling). Not such very old days.

MANNOCK (a little annoyed). You know what I mean ... I wanted to be that, even more than to be Prime Minister. It fascinated me.

EVERSLEY. It would terrify me.

MANNOCK. I think I’ve only realised lately how much I wanted it; how certain I was I could be one of the Great Ones.... It may never come now. (Remembering suddenly) Well, of course now it never will—obviously. (He sighs) I’m well out of it all. But even if—I mean Mowbray—well, he’ll last this Government—and after the next Election, who knows? (He is thoughtful.)

EVERSLEY. And what are you going to do when you retire?

MANNOCK. Teddy, you do think I’m right, don’t you?

EVERSLEY. Well, I don’t quite know all the circumstances, do I?

MANNOCK. I must have you on my side. Everybody here—well, naturally⁠——

EVERSLEY. They think you’re mad? They’ve sent for the doctor?

MANNOCK. They simply don’t believe it. But you—you’re not prejudiced—you think⁠——?

EVERSLEY. Aren’t I prejudiced?

MANNOCK. You?

EVERSLEY (through clouds of smoke). I had a friend once. I lived with him, played with him, made plans with him, for—how many years? I was fond of him, Dick. I don’t think he knew how fond we were of him, Sally and I; two of the admiring ones, the loving ones; yes, the happier ones. Then I lost him ... and more than twenty years afterwards I found him again. And he was dead. Now you say that he is coming to life again, and you ask me to tell you—quite without prejudice—whether I should like him to come to life again.... It is a little difficult for me, Dick, to be quite unprejudiced.

MANNOCK (remorsefully). Teddy!

EVERSLEY (a little wistfully). But—I should like to find him again, you know. Just to talk to him about those—rather jolly days.

MANNOCK. They were good days.

EVERSLEY. Perhaps we didn’t realise at the time how good they were.

MANNOCK. Do you remember—(he breaks off impetuously) Oh, Teddy, there are a hundred things I want to talk to you about, a hundred things I want to tell you.

EVERSLEY. Well, that’s why I came.

MANNOCK. I know. (Suddenly) Teddy! I—(and then he pulls himself up) No, I can’t tell you now. Not here. I must see you—where can I see you? Not in this house. Where can I see you, where can we really talk?

EVERSLEY. Couldn’t we dine together somewhere?

MANNOCK. Yes, that’s it. Somewhere where we can be by ourselves. Now, let me think⁠——

EVERSLEY. “The Cock,” in Fleet Street? Not many people there in the evening.

MANNOCK. That will do.... I wonder what you’ll think.... But I can’t tell you here.... I’ll call for you. Where are you staying? Your club?

EVERSLEY. I am staying with friends. At Porchester Terrace. But they don’t expect me to dinner.

MANNOCK. Then I’ll call for you at a quarter to eight. What number? You’d better write it down. (EVERSLEY takes out a card) Got a pencil?

EVERSLEY (feeling in his pockets). Somewhere.

MANNOCK (going to the desk). Here you are. (And then he sees the letter and stops short.)

EVERSLEY (finding his own). It’s all right. (He writes the address.)

(MANNOCK gazes at the letter. This is from the Prime Minister—to accept his resignation. So his career is over. He stands there, letter in hand, breathing heavily as if he had been running. EVERSLEY looks at him in surprise.)

MANNOCK. When did this⁠——

EVERSLEY. What is it?

MANNOCK (turning, letter in hand). How long⁠——

EVERSLEY. Your butler brought it in, didn’t he, when he brought me in?

MANNOCK. Yes, of course.

EVERSLEY. Don’t mind me, Dick, if it’s important.

MANNOCK. No, no, it’s nothing. I⁠——

(LADY JANE comes in, followed by BERTIE. They are obviously excited.)

LADY JANE (eagerly). Richard! (She sees EVERSLEY) Oh, I—(coldly) Oh, how do you do, Mr. Eversley?

EVERSLEY. How do you do, Lady Jane? I was just going. (He and BERTIE nod to each other) Well, good-bye, Dick. (Giving him the card) Here’s the address. And a quarter to eight?

MANNOCK (mechanically). Yes, yes. Good-bye. (He rings the bell, and puts down the card.)

EVERSLEY (to LADY JANE). Good-bye. (To BERTIE) Good-bye. (BERTIE nods.)

LADY JANE (with an effort). Oh, but we mustn’t drive you away like this.

EVERSLEY (smiling pleasantly). But I really was going. Good-bye.

LADY JANE. Good-bye.

[DIGBY is there to show him out. He goes.

(All this time MANNOCK has been standing with the unopened letter in his hands, fingering the envelope.)

LADY JANE (in suppressed excitement). Richard! Bertie says.... Why, what’s that? (She is looking at the letter) But that’s—why don’t you open it? That’s the letter. Open it! Open it!

MANNOCK (dully). This is just acknowledging and accepting my resignation.

LADY JANE. But have you opened it yet? (She snatches it from him, looks at it, and gives it back to him) But you haven’t opened it yet! Open it! Bertie says⁠——

BERTIE. The omens are distinctly favourable. But—well, now we shall know.

MANNOCK (opening it). It’s only just to accept my resignation. (He reads. You can see at once that it is not that.)

LADY JANE. (watching his face). It is! (MANNOCK looks in front of him, seeing visions) May I—(she takes the letter from him) I must. (She reads) Oh, well done, Richard!

(MANNOCK stands there, breathing heavily. To be Chancellor of the Exchequer!)

BERTIE. He has? (She nods) By Jove! Congratulations!

LADY JANE. I never thought⁠——

BERTIE. Well, I don’t know. Mowbray has a good deal against him one way and another.

LADY JANE. Yes. But I was almost afraid to hope.

BERTIE (proudly). Didn’t I tell you to leave it to him? (He nods towards MANNOCK.)

LADY JANE. Yes, you were quite right, Bertie. (She looks admiringly at her husband.)

BERTIE. Of course, I know all about the resignation stunt—it’s as old as the hills. But if you can do it with conviction, you can still pull it off sometimes.

LADY JANE. Yes, yes.

BERTIE. Mannock carried conviction—that’s where he’s such an artist. The P.M. really thought he was going. Didn’t dare to lose him. Prepared to offer anything to keep him.

LADY JANE. Yes.

BERTIE. I’ve always said that, in the matter of political strategy, Mannock can give them all points. Even the P.M. I knew he’d pull it off.

LADY JANE. Richard! (She means “Come and talk to us.”)

MANNOCK (his control suddenly giving way). So you knew I’d pull it off? (He is almost shouting.)

BERTIE. Rather!

MANNOCK. I can give ’em all points in political strategy?

BERTIE. I’ve always said so.

MANNOCK. And I carry conviction—eh?—that’s where I’m such an artist.

BERTIE. Exactly. (MANNOCK gives a loud, bitter laugh.) Well, I mean⁠——

MANNOCK (half hysterically). An artist! That’s what I am. Carry conviction! I carried conviction all right. I pulled your leg pretty well, Bertie. (To LADY JANE) And yours. You thought I meant to resign—yes, you did, both of you—you thought I meant it—you were frightened to death, yes, you were. You thought I really meant to give it all up. So did Arthur. I had Arthur in here just now—frightened to death—thought I meant to give it all up—talked about his career—his career!—my God!—frightened to death he was, just like you two. Ha! I pulled your legs pretty well. Resign? Why the devil should I resign? Haven’t I got what I always wanted? You ask Reader—he’ll tell you—the supreme goal for any man to reach. Chancellor of the Exchequer—that gives you power. Me! I’ve done it! Just pure strategy. Pretending I wanted to give up politics. Why should I? Success—it closes in on you! My God, there’s nothing I can’t do! Nothing! (His voice rises almost to a shriek, as he drops into a chair, and sits there, his hands over his face, his shoulders shaking with long, tearless sobs.)

BERTIE (soothingly). I say, old fellow⁠——

LADY JANE (quietly). No. Go, Bertie.

BERTIE. Oh, right. (Going) I’ll come in this evening if I can. He’ll be all right? (She nods.) Right.

[He goes out.

LADY JANE (putting an arm calmly on MANNOCK’S shoulders). It’s all right now, Richard. I know how you must feel. It has been a very anxious time for both of us. But it’s all over now. You’ve got what you wanted. I’m proud of you, very proud of you.

MANNOCK (pulling himself together). I’m sorry. I⁠——

LADY JANE (calmly). It’s all right. I understand perfectly. The strain—naturally.

MANNOCK. Yes.

LADY JANE. I’ll leave you now. You’ll want to be alone. But come and talk to me afterwards.

MANNOCK (nodding). Yes.

LADY JANE (giving him the letter). You’ll want to answer this.

MANNOCK. Yes. Thank you.

LADY JANE (looking at him admiringly). I’m very proud of you, Richard.

[She goes out.

(Alone, MANNOCK walks slowly to his desk, a tired man. There, he sees EVERSLEY’S card, picks it up, looks at it, puts it down, and takes up the telephone.)

MANNOCK (at the telephone). Hullo! Come in, will you? (He goes back to his chair and waits. READER comes in, note-book in hand.) I want a telegram sent at once. To Mr. Eversley. You’ll find a card on my desk. (READER goes there). Got it? With an address in Porchester Terrace.

READER. Yes, sir. (He writes down the name and address and waits.)

MANNOCK. “Afraid cannot dine to-night.”

READER (writing). “Afraid cannot dine to-night.”

MANNOCK. That’s all.

READER. Signed?

MANNOCK. Yes, “Dick.” ... (An end to this weakness. He corrects himself firmly) No—Mannock.

READER. “Afraid cannot dine to-night. Mannock.” ... Anything else, sir?

MANNOCK. No.... Yes.... Yes.... (READER waits) Another telegram.

READER (waiting). Yes?

MANNOCK. Lady Carchester, Enderways, Riley, Yorkshire.

READER (murmuring to himself). Enderways, Riley, R-I-L-E-Y?

MANNOCK. Yes.

READER. Yorkshire. (He waits).

MANNOCK (after a long pause). “I beg your pardon.” (READER says nothing. MANNOCK looks up) That’s all.

READER. Oh, I beg—I see—I didn’t understand. (Writing) “I beg your pardon.”

MANNOCK. We had a—a discussion. I—I was wrong. I have found out since that I was wrong. This is—(he shrugs).

READER (pleasantly). A very graceful way of saying so, if I may be allowed⁠——

MANNOCK (to himself). Graceful!

READER (after waiting). Signed? Or will she understand?

MANNOCK. She will understand. (To himself, ashamed) I think she will understand.... All right, Reader.

[READER goes out.

(MANNOCK walks slowly to his desk. For a little while he sits there, holding the letter in his hand....

SALLY is dead. He has killed her. No good explaining, apologising, whining, to a person whom you have killed. Let him be man enough to spare her that last insult. No, there’s nothing to say. It was EVERSLEY and that damned tune that got into a man’s head, and made him dream.... The sweetness of her in his dream! But that was twenty-five years ago. They’re dead now; both dead.... But—Chancellor of the Exchequer! It will be in all the papers to-morrow. Chancellor of the Exchequer! What will the papers say? What will people say? Everybody will see it.... Sally will see it. Will know, will understand. No, there’s nothing to be said. That damned tune, that damned dream. O Sally, Sally, Sally! Don’t! Don’t come into my dreams again....

So for a little he sits, thinking. Then, with a bitter, contemptuous laugh, he tosses away his thoughts and comes back to the letter. Chancellor of the Exchequer! Briskly he dips his pen into the ink, and writes to the Prime Minister.)

Printed in Great Britain by R. & R. Clark, Limited, Edinburgh.