print previewback DAVID CAUDLE
Likeness
Act 2
Scene 1
(Lights up on the tableau that closed Act 1. The three young people remain motionless. After a moment, FARRADAY heads for the door. MARCUS bars it.)
FARRADAY
I cannot remain here. I’ve been assaulted. You are witness.
MARCUS
I’ve got my orders, sir.
FARRADAY
What man with fields to farm would eject an entire family of able-bodied sons?
MARCUS
He can always find another.
FARRADAY
I highly doubt—
MARCUS
Never doubt. Either believe a thing or don’t, my father says, and I won’t see him a beggar.
FARRADAY
How cunningly he traps me. Threatening the defenseless, knowing I would not regard any danger to myself.
(MISS WESTERLEY demurely coughs.)
Miss Westerley
. . . Regardless of the injury done me by your own relation, I promise to treat you with the utmost gentleness and respect—
MISS WESTERLEY
Don’t talk to me.
FARRADAY
You summoned me.
MISS WESTERLEY
No. It was only the breath catching in my throat, awed as I was by your heroic indifference to danger.
FARRADAY
Miss Westerley—
MISS WESTERLEY
You must not speak to me until Miss Preston returns.
FARRADAY
I think that highly unlikely.
MISS WESTERLEY
My father will soon come to his senses and send her back to me, as is proper. Until then—
FARRADAY
Until then, I suppose I must . . . I will begin. Marcus, please set out and light the lanterns.
(MARCUS won’t leave the door.)
Never mind. I’ll do it myself.
(FARRADAY lights the lanterns himself. He puts a white canvas on the easel and gets a stick of charcoal.)
To save time, I’ll sketch the ship directly onto the canvas. Kindly adjust yourself into the forward pose, miss.
MISS WESTERLEY
Until Miss Preston returns, I will not sit.
FARRADAY
You are sitting now.
MISS WESTERLEY
Now I stand. And now I wander. To and fro. Fro and to—
(At the edge of the carpet, MISS WESTERLEY remembers her gown and stops.)
You and the boy will refrain from looking at me. Until I have a chaperon, I must not be looked upon.
FARRADAY
This observance of form . . . in our present circumstances—
MISS WESTERLEY
I said don’t talk to me. You talk too much.
FARRADAY
I?
MISS WESTERLEY
A respectable woman’s comings and goings are nobody’s affair but her own. Miss Preston was only trying to do a good deed for her brother, in secrecy. But you would not let it alone. All to prove what an expert you are at faces. Well, expert. How will you proceed now? There is no time for your precious layers to dry. Do you even know another way? I’ll wager you learned how to paint from a book and follow every step as one would a recipe for Indian pudding. I’m glad this is happening. You will not be able to finish the painting. My father will see his mistake in engaging you, and I will have Copley or Blackburn after all.
FARRADAY
Would that you had to begin with.
MISS WESTERLEY
Don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me. Don’t . . . just don’t.
FARRADAY
Your command is my wish.
(He copies the sketch onto the canvas.)
MISS WESTERLEY
How do you proceed? You do not even look at me.
FARRADAY
You have instructed me not to.
(MISS WESTERLEY heads for the door. MARCUS holds his arms out gently.)
FARRADAY
Stay away from that door!
MISS WESTERLEY
The boy will not dare lay hands upon me.
FARRADAY
I will dare, if he won’t.
(MISS WESTERLEY sizes him up and slowly retreats.)
MISS WESTERLEY
Might the boy look out to see if Miss Preston is on her way?
FARRADAY
Marcus, do not open the door.
MARCUS
There’s plenty of cracks and chinks I can look through.
MISS WESTERLEY
Tell the boy he may do so.
MARCUS
I don’t see a soul, Miss—er, sir. Tell the miss I don’t see a soul, but I’ll keep a lookout as long as need be.
MISS WESTERLEY
How refreshing to see an example of competent service.
FARRADAY
I am not in service. I may take a commission, or leave it.
MISS WESTERLEY
How many offers, in the course of your illustrious career, have you chosen to “leave”?
FARRADAY
Kindly take your seat.
MISS WESTERLEY
Place your sketch in the chair.
FARRADAY
The sketch is incomplete.
MISS WESTERLEY
Oh, I see.
FARRADAY
If I don’t finish, it will be just as much your fault as mine unless you cooperate. Now, I must render the ship.
(MISS WESTERLEY sits.)
MISS WESTERLEY
Ahoy.
(FARRADAY sketches. Lights fade.)
Scene 2
(An hour later.
MISS WESTERLEY furtively reaches up to scratch her scalp. MARCUS looks toward her. She quickly lowers her arm again.)
MISS WESTERLEY
Master Farraday.
FARRADAY (not looking up)
Hmmm?
MISS WESTERLEY
Master Farraday!
FARRADAY
Yes, Miss Westerley?
MISS WESTERLEY
I should like a word. With you. Privately.
(MARCUS turns to face the door.
MISS WESTERLEY beckons FARRADAY to lean down.)
FARRADAY
I’d rather not get a crow’s nest in the eye, if you don’t mind.
(FARRADAY carefully bends down. MISS WESTERLEY whispers in his ear.)
He only wants to see if you—If you’re quite—
MISS WESTERLEY (whispering)
I don’t like the way he looks at me.
FARRADAY (whispering back)
What? With compassion? The fiend. I am not Miss Preston. If you want him to hear those words, they’ll have to come out of your own pinched little mouth.
MISS WESTERLEY
Pinched!? According to you, my mouth resembles two small sausages.
(FARRADAY goes back to the easel.)
FARRADAY
May we proceed, “Your Ladyship”?
MISS WESTERLEY
Good. You’ve learned to address me properly. If only you could render me properly.
FARRADAY
I will render you perfectly, and title it Vanity.
MARCUS
You oughtn’t talk so, sir!
MISS WESTERLEY
Let him talk how he likes. His tastes are so misguided, his admiration would be an affront.
FARRADAY
You just spoke to “the boy.”
MISS WESTERLEY
I did not!
FARRADAY
What, he is no longer beneath your notice?
MISS WESTERLEY
I was speaking to you.
FARRADAY
You called me “he.”
MISS WESTERLEY
Well, I was speaking aloud, to myself.
FARRADAY
You were not.
MISS WESTERLEY
Talking even to you is a degradation, Master Farraday.
(FARRADAY continues drawing.
MISS WESTERLEY sneaks in a few more surreptitious scratches at her scalp. Her discomfort increases. FARRADAY is mildly amused.
Suddenly, MISS WESTERLEY seems to have an unbearable itch. Her scratching is highly indecorous.
FARRADAY laughs aloud.
She jerks her arms back to her sides and steels herself utterly.
MARCUS boldly approaches her.)
MARCUS
How can I help you, Miss? We have to help her.
(FARRADAY tosses MARCUS a long, narrow paintbrush. MARCUS uses the handle to scratch her scalp.)
FARRADAY
Try to keep her head still just a few moments more.
(FARRADAY draws feverishly, looking from her headdress to the canvas.
MARCUS holds the ship steady and continues scratching.)
There. The ship wants refining, but its placement is resolved. You may take it off, Miss Westerley. That is, if you would like to.
MISS WESTERLEY
Might the boy go and fetch Miss Preston?
FARRADAY
Marcus may not leave.
MISS WESTERLEY
He may simply explain his errand.
FARRADAY
He stays where he is.
MISS WESTERLEY
Then I will fetch her myself.
FARRADAY
I don’t think you grasp the seriousness of her situation. The charges laid against her.
Consorting with an enemy—
MISS WESTERLEY
My father imagines everyone an enemy to the Crown.
FARRADAY
Still. Did you not remark something . . . rather ominous in the way she was led out of here?
MISS WESTERLEY
All the more reason I must go and see.
FARRADAY
The surest way to help her is to submit to your punishment. Let your father atone for his maltreatment of you with leniency toward Miss Preston.
MISS WESTERLEY
What a stupid idea.
FARRADAY
And what of Marcus? You’ll destroy a life spent in loyal service to you.
MISS WESTERLEY
I’ll ask my father to reconsider. He will oblige me.
FARRADAY
Your very presence here makes me doubt that.
MISS WESTERLEY
My father is sometimes rash, but—
FARRADAY
Your father is a tyrant!
MARCUS
Sir!
FARRADAY
Your best friend in the world is this “boy” here, to whom you will not speak. And after him, there’s I. Who wanted to paint you as you wanted to be painted, but your father—
MARCUS
Don’t, sir!
FARRADAY
Your father . . . is the one who has thrown us together in this way. And you know better than anyone what he is capable of.
(beat)
There is no rank here. We are all prisoners together. We must make do with one another.
MISS WESTERLEY
Then get this off me.
FARRADAY
Very well. Let us see what can be done.
MISS WESTERLEY
Only, you must not touch me.
(MARCUS pulls on the ship. MISS WESTERLEY gasps.)
FARRADAY
Careful! Some of this looks to be her own hair. Miss, we will have to touch some of your own hair.
MISS WESTERLEY
That is permissible. If it cannot be helped.
FARRADAY
I think it cannot.
(She sits, rigid, as they work to free her from the ship.)
MARCUS
I think I’ve got the other end of that.
(They each pull out one end of the same long lock of false hair. They unwind it from the wig and toss it aside.)
MARCUS
This is knotted.
FARRADAY
Allow me.
(FARRADAY takes the paintbrush and uses the tapered handle to pry open a knot. A large section of wig comes loose, and the ship lists to one side. MARCUS catches it.)
There should be another one like it on the other side.
MARCUS
I see it.
(FARRADAY holds the ship and hands MARCUS the paintbrush. MARCUS undoes another knot. The ship comes off in FARRADAY’s hand, with more false hair hanging from it like gargantuan seaweed.
FARRADAY sets the ship on the table.
MISS WESTERLEY is left with a head of severely matted and partially powdered hair, which she tries to smooth into something presentable.
All three notice a strange substance on their hands.)
FARRADAY
What is this?
MARCUS
I don’t know, sir. It’s that sticky.
FARRADAY
I don’t wish to be indelicate, but might we know—?
MISS WESTERLEY (quietly)
Lard.
FARRADAY
I beg your pardon?
MISS WESTERLEY
Lard. It is lard.
(FARRADAY dips rags in a bucket of water and hands them out. All scrub their hands.
MARCUS suddenly sees movement on the back of MISS WESTERLEY’s neck.)
MARCUS
Oh—!
(With the brush, MARCUS quietly sweeps bugs off her neck.)
Bring me that bucket of water, sir. And a fresh cloth. And some drapery.
(All three are shocked at the idea of MARCUS giving an order.)
MARCUS
I’m sorry, sir.
FARRADAY
It’s perfectly all right. I want you to speak freely.
(FARRADAY brings the water. They wrap the drapery around MISS WESTERLEY’s shoulders.
MARCUS dampens the cloth and hands it to MISS WESTERLEY. She scrubs her neck and scalp with it. The treatment is an ecstasy to her, though she does her best to conceal it. MARCUS remains behind her to preserve her modesty.
FARRADAY stands at a respectful distance.
Twice, she hands the cloth behind her to MARCUS. He rinses and recharges it with fresh water. The third time, he doesn’t take it. He is lost in watching her, tears streaming down his face.)
MISS WESTERLEY
Is the boy there? I want fresh water.
(MARCUS abruptly moves to the door.)
FARRADAY
Marcus? Are you all right?
(FARRADAY notices his tears and learns the boy’s secret. He is in love. MARCUS faces the door and sobs quietly.)
MISS WESTERLEY
Where is he going? I am not finished!
FARRADAY
He . . . has retaken his post.
(FARRADAY takes the cloth and rinses it himself.)
MISS WESTERLEY
Whatever is the matter with him? I did not raise my voice.
(MARCUS goes out, closing the door behind him.)
MISS WESTERLEY
You do not go to him?
FARRADAY
Some troubles are best overcome on one’s own.
MISS WESTERLEY
So my father says. When I am distressed, Miss Preston is not to come near. So that I might recover the sooner. And in this, I do believe my father is right, because I have noticed children. Playing in the fields, or outside the church. When a child falls and hurts his head, and does not know he is observed, that child gets up and goes about his business. But no sooner does he see his nana running to him with cries of alarm, than he wails and won’t be consoled for the world. Children never notice the need for sympathy until it is offered. If they are not taught to require it, they will be happier in later life.
(beat)
I should like it if you would forget having seen me . . . in a state of . . . such disquiet.
FARRADAY
Disquiet? When?
MISS WESTERLEY
Do not humor me.
FARRADAY
I don’t. The objective fact is that you scarcely flinched. You are a marvel of self-possession.
MISS WESTERLEY
Good.
FARRADAY
But, if you’ll excuse my saying so . . .
MISS WESTERLEY
Yes?
FARRADAY
I don’t think your father is right. A child who hurts his head naturally wants and indeed deserves a bit of coddling. Only an unfeeling brute could withhold it. And only an unfeeling brute could lock his daughter up in this improper manner. It is monstrous. No matter how one feels about . . .
MISS WESTERLEY
About that daughter?
FARRADAY
About that daughter’s . . . father’s . . . parental rights, and so forth. But this talk is getting us nowhere. Excuse me.
(FARRADAY returns to the easel and paces, glaring at the canvas as at a rival.)
MISS WESTERLEY
Do you begin the painting now?
(FARRADAY dips a brush, makes a mark, backs away.)
Is something the matter?
FARRADAY
Perhaps I ought not have used charcoal.
MISS WESTERLEY
No? Why not?
FARRADAY
I was talking to myself.
MISS WESTERLEY
This is my portrait. I’ve a right to know.
FARRADAY
Well . . . Normally, I’d paint a line drawing on the canvas with ochre paint. But there’s no time for that to dry.
MISS WESTERLEY
So what will you do?
FARRADAY
I’ve used charcoal. It might blend with the paint and turn it gray.
MISS WESTERLEY
Good. Make the poppet gray. That will at least give her character.
FARRADAY
Please don’t joke. This is a rather delicate part of the process.
MISS WESTERLEY
Excuse me.
FARRADAY
Might I have Marcus to mix pigments?
MISS WESTERLEY
Certainly.
FARRADAY
I have your word you will not try to depart?
MISS WESTERLEY
Oh, yes. I’ve decided to leave all the wrong on my father’s side. Let him assuage his guilt toward me with leniency toward Miss Preston. And generosity to her brother.
FARRADAY
What a cunning idea. Why did I not think of it?
MISS WESTERLEY
You see, I am not the silly posy you or my father think me.
FARRADAY
No . . . No, you are not. Well. To work.
MISS WESTERLEY
Yes. To work.
(FARRADAY opens the door a crack and whispers out.
MARCUS enters sheepishly.)
Tell the boy I was only surprised when he did not answer. He did not displease me.
FARRADAY
You’re very good to say so. Come, Marcus. You’ll mix pigments. She has promised to remain seated.
MARCUS
Yes, sir.
FARRADAY
A little more oil to begin with. Remember what I said about stirring slowly at first.
MARCUS
Yes, sir.
MISS WESTERLEY
Where did you learn your skill, Master Farraday?
FARRADAY
I am . . . largely self-taught.
MISS WESTERLEY
Yet you clearly have some degree of formal education. Has your father a profession?
FARRADAY
He is a lawyer.
MISS WESTERLEY
You do not wish to go into law, likewise?
FARRADAY
It was my father’s wish. But I haven’t the head for it.
MISS WESTERLEY
How did you discover you’ve a head for painting?
FARRADAY
I believe I’ve always known it.
MISS WESTERLEY
Your father did not approve?
FARRADAY
He did not. Miss, if you please—
MISS WESTERLEY
My father hasn’t a clue what my head is for, either. Apart from mooring the occasional four-master.
FARRADAY
If you please, miss.
MISS WESTERLEY
Ah, yes. The delicate process.
(She watches the men work.)
MARCUS
Is this pigment all right, sir?
FARRADAY
Good. Now mix a raw sienna. The colors are marked.
MARCUS
Marked, sir?
FARRADAY (remembering MARCUS can’t read)
Oh. Forgive me.
(He hands MARCUS the pigment and mixes another color himself.)
MISS WESTERLEY
Did you really live with . . . atheists?
FARRADAY
Miss Westerley, may I remind you—?
MISS WESTERLEY
My marriage will soon thrust me into the highest London society. It would be awkward to hold such an exalted place in a world I know so little about.
FARRADAY
Miss Preston appears to have taught you well enough.
MISS WESTERLEY
But my way in life is entirely paved for me. You had to lay your own road. Please tell me.
FARRADAY
There is little to tell. Finding no love, no support, no understanding in my father’s house, I quit it without a penny to my name. I roamed the countryside, performing odd jobs for sustenance, sleeping in ditches and forests, shunning the society of man. Until I was charitably taken in by Mr. Morton and Miss Primble. They gave me nothing but kindness, encouragement, and books. Illustrated Bibles—yes, atheists may own Bibles—and other illustrated books of paintings. I read every word, studied every image—
MISS WESTERLEY
You did learn to paint from books, then. I was right.
FARRADAY
Dear Mr. Morton and Miss Primble. They are my family now.
MISS WESTERLEY
Did they require you to renounce your faith, in some pagan ritual?
FARRADAY
Never anything of the kind. Rather, their very existence restored my faith. In a loving God. In a loving Man. That is how I want to paint people. How I hoped to paint you. With the loving spirit of humanity they taught me.
MISS WESTERLEY
Perhaps few would find such spirit plausible in this day.
FARRADAY
More’s the pity. But I will change that.
MISS WESTERLEY
When you gain renown?
FARRADAY
Yes. I had hoped this would be a significant step. This portrait. I see now that it will not. But one day my name will be known. And my father will eat his last words to me and choke on them!
(FARRADAY upsets a tray of pigment. MARCUS quickly cleans up after him.)
MISS WESTERLEY
Which do you really seek, then? Renown or revenge?
FARRADAY
I seek neither. Only . . . a painting is not complete until it is viewed. An artist’s fulfillment cannot be achieved independent of fame.
MISS WESTERLEY
Ce n’est que le souffle des gens, et souvent malsain.
FARRADAY
Excuse me?
MISS WESTERLEY
Fame is but the breath of people, and that, often unwholesome.
FARRADAY
Rousseau!
MISS WESTERLEY
The same.
FARRADAY
How do you . . . happen to be acquainted with . . . ?
MISS WESTERLEY
As you are with painting. From books.
FARRADAY
I’m astonished that your father would allow—
MISS WESTERLEY
Oh, he would never.
FARRADAY
Miss Preston—?
MISS WESTERLEY
Shhh. She wants me to think broadly.
(They giggle conspiratorially.)
FARRADAY
I read Rousseau’s Discourse four times!
MISS WESTERLEY
I only read it twice.
FARRADAY
A remarkable accomplishment, for one of your years.
MISS WESTERLEY
Yet Rousseau himself doesn’t care for education, apparently.
FARRADAY
Higher learning is not best for everyone, but certainly for some . . . Without a thorough education, how could Rousseau himself have given such eloquent shape to his ideas?
MISS WESTERLEY
Or, for that matter, how could anyone read and comprehend them? I prefer his La Nouvelle Heloise.
FARRADAY
His romantic novel? I’ve not come across a translation of that. Do you have it?
MISS WESTERLEY
Not a translation.
FARRADAY
Oh.
MISS WESTERLEY
A charming book. No one is the slightest bit witty.
FARRADAY
I hate wit!
MISS WESTERLEY
You are the Noble Savage, are you not?
FARRADAY
I picked cranberries for a time.
MISS WESTERLEY
How extraordinary! You did not mind the work?
FARRADAY
Mind? No! Hard work feeds the soul. I’d do it still, if I hadn’t this other calling.
MISS WESTERLEY
I adore cranberries. How long were you so employed?
FARRADAY
Well . . . three days. But—
MISS WESTERLEY
Three days! I shouldn’t last three minutes.
FARRADAY
It was three days until I met my benefactors. And then it was my duty to seize the opportunity. But, you see, that is why I have such a natural rapport with our Marcus. I know the freedom he feels in his mind and heart, while his body remains captive—
MISS WESTERLEY
Not so. He is free. They’re all free.
FARRADAY
To go where? With what capital? These people are held by circumstances stronger than chains.
MISS WESTERLEY
Held by my father.
FARRADAY
If not him, it would be some other, I’m afraid. One would only hope Marcus could be treated humanely. Spoken to, for instance, rather than of.
MISS WESTERLEY
That is my father’s law. He talks to everyone, but he prefers that I do not address the servants at all, other than Miss Preston. He says it leads to cross-purposes. Other households, I know, have various ways of doing. I shall adopt whatever policy my husband thinks best. Being the wife of a baronet, I will be studied as a pattern of womanhood. My position may hold a very different set of rules and responsibilities, to which I shall conscientiously adhere. Except, of course, that Miss Preston will come with me. I shall continue to talk to her, regardless of my husband’s custom. He must indulge me there. No one else need speak to her if they do not wish. But she shall always be talked to by me.
FARRADAY
That is very good of you.
MISS WESTERLEY
I will be the mistress of the house. Husbands are so much more . . . They must defer, in some ways. To their wives.
FARRADAY
Ideally.
MISS WESTERLEY
It was so with my mother. Her opinion was always respected. Consulted. I was very young. But . . . I am sure I remember that she was quite often consulted. My mother would have made a wonderful subject for you.
FARRADAY
I have no doubt she was very beautiful.
MISS WESTERLEY
She had character. Beauty is character. And character is best displayed by features that are interesting. Unexpected. Yet pleasing. I almost always find the unexpected pleasing.
FARRADAY
I agree.
MISS WESTERLEY
Not only in myself, but in others. Miss Preston, for instance. The line of her jaw is certainly unexpected. Almost unheard of. Yet it has rather a charm about it that her habitual severity cannot subdue.
FARRADAY
Yes. I see that.
MISS WESTERLEY
My father’s idea of beauty is . . . He prefers the sort of head one would expect to see bobbing up and down on a China doll.
(FARRADAY laughs.)
What?
FARRADAY
I was only thinking of . . . your cousin. Mrs. Mapes.
MISS WESTERLEY
She is my father’s niece. But she is not my cousin.
FARRADAY
Don’t you like her?
MISS WESTERLEY
I find her very name appalling. What made you think of her?
FARRADAY
A bobble-headed Joan of Arc.
(MISS WESTERLEY stifles a laugh.)
MISS WESTERLEY
Pardon me. My lips have moved much already. You ought to have reminded me.
FARRADAY
Right. I had best get on with it.
MISS WESTERLEY
I will be as the grave.
FARRADAY
Not as the grave. As the gravestone.
MISS WESTERLEY
If I am a stone, I am alabaster, is that it?
FARRADAY
Yes, but not a gravestone, either. Rather . . . a frieze.
MISS WESTERLEY
Cold?
FARRADAY
Highly placed.
MISS WESTERLEY
Not free-standing?
FARRADAY
But where all can see you.
MISS WESTERLEY
In low relief.
FARRADAY
You simply will not take a compliment.
MISS WESTERLEY
I have no chaperon.
(They suddenly remember they do have a witness. MARCUS glares at FARRADAY resentfully, then quickly looks down at his work.
FARRADAY, smiling, begins to paint. MISS WESTERLEY watches, also smiling. Lights fade.)
Scene 3
(Near sunset. MISS WESTERLEY dozes in the chair. MARCUS lights more lanterns as FARRADAY paints.)
MARCUS
Is that light all right?
FARRADAY
I hope so. Marcus.
MARCUS
Yes, sir?
FARRADAY
You were right to defend her to me before. She certainly does improve on acquaintance.
(beat)
Well? Aren’t you pleased, that I appreciate her at last?
MARCUS
You ought to have done at first.
FARRADAY
You’re right. Allow me to apologize.
MARCUS
Not to me, I hope.
FARRADAY
I saw those tears, Marcus. I know your secret. Don’t worry, I daresay she understood nothing about it.
MISS WESTERLEY
Nothing about what?
FARRADAY
We thought you were asleep.
MISS WESTERLEY
I was only resting my eyes.
(FARRADAY paints a few strokes, stands back and stares at them.)
FARRADAY
Marcus, where is the medium? Pour some out in a pot.
(MARCUS does so. FARRADAY dips the brush in it and paints some more.)
FARRADAY
They don’t stay underneath.
MARCUS
Didn’t I mix it right?
FARRADAY
It’s the shadows. I cannot render a three-dimensional form without shadows, but they won’t stay underneath.
MARCUS
Might they go on top, then?
FARRADAY
Of course not.
MARCUS
When a cloud comes over, the shadow passes on top of things.
FARRADAY
You don’t understand.
MARCUS
Where those colors mixed there, looks like a shadow.
FARRADAY
It looks like a smudge.
MARCUS
I don’t know.
FARRADAY
But I know. It’s not working. This is impossible. Simply impossible.
(There is a kicking at the door. MARCUS hurries to it and listens.)
MISS WESTERLEY
Open it!
MARCUS
But . . .
MISS WESTERLEY
It is Miss Preston! I told you he would send her to me!
FARRADAY
But no one must go in or out, miss.
MISS WESTERLEY
“Out,” yes. But he said nothing of “in.”
(MISS WESTERLEY opens the door. MRS. MAPES enters with a basket. MISS WESTERLEY recoils.)
MRS. MAPES
Anne. It’s awful, I know . . .
MISS WESTERLEY
I will go to my room now.
MRS. MAPES
Your father won’t have that. It was a chore to get him to allow my coming. Here. I’ve brought some tea and biscuits.
MISS WESTERLEY
I’m not hungry.
MRS. MAPES
I’m sure these boys are. The sun nearly sets. Come and get it, boys. Don’t be shy.
(MARCUS closes the door and takes a biscuit, which he devours.)
That’s the way. Here we are.
(MRS. MAPES takes out a small teapot and pours three small cups at the table.
She brings a cup to MARCUS at the door. He drinks greedily.)
Master Farraday?
FARRADAY
No, thank you.
MRS. MAPES
Not thirsty, in this heat? Oh, I see. You need to use the privy, eh? Well . . . he hasn’t given leave for that, but you have my leave to go out behind the barn. You and the boy both.
MARCUS
We’re not to leave, ma’am.
MRS. MAPES
Do as I say. Out with the old. You must eat and drink in comfort. You need your strength. Go on.
(MARCUS and FARRADAY exit, humbly but quickly.)
Poor little dears. Such a to-do about a silly face.
MISS WESTERLEY
The silly face is the one on that canvas. My father has gaudy taste and no discernment, and I must suffer for it. As always.
MRS. MAPES
I follow your meaning, missy, but you don’t offend me. Cheer up. Sir James’ll like the picture well enough.
MISS WESTERLEY
If he likes that kind of face, I won’t like him.
MRS. MAPES
Then you won’t like any man.
MISS WESTERLEY
And he won't like me, either. I don’t look like that, and he’ll know it as soon as I step off the boat.
MRS. MAPES
Not so, my dear. We women can look any old wise and still make them see just what they like.
MISS WESTERLEY
I will not paint myself like a common tart.
MRS. MAPES
You don’t need paint. It’s easier yet. I’ll teach you.
MISS WESTERLEY
No. I want Miss Preston. Get me Miss Preston.
MRS. MAPES
Miss Preston is detained. I’m to bide here with you, as is fitting. Shall I tidy up your hair a bit? I’ve got leave to escort you to the privy.
MISS WESTERLEY
Don’t be disgusting.
MRS. MAPES
You don’t want to make water? Won’t you eat?
MISS WESTERLEY
No.
MRS. MAPES
Please. Let me be of use to you.
MISS WESTERLEY
Very well. Go and get Miss Preston.
MRS. MAPES
I can’t do that.
MISS WESTERLEY
Then I’ve no use for you.
MRS. MAPES
Anne—
MISS WESTERLEY
Don’t call me that!
MRS. MAPES
Your father’s under a great strain.
MISS WESTERLEY
What strain can possibly justify this imprisonment?
MRS. MAPES
It’s bigger than anything going on here. He saw it coming, but he acted too late, and that’s what he don’t like.
MISS WESTERLEY
What on earth is it?
MRS. MAPES
I don’t mean to alarm your dear head, but . . . there’s been trouble a-brewing about this new tax that seemed like to boil over. That’s why your father wanted your picture on the next boat, before anything really serious could happen. Well, now it’s gone and happened already!
MISS WESTERLEY
What’s happened?
MRS. MAPES
No sooner was our friend Mr. Oliver appointed Commissioner of Stamps than them hooligans burned the man’s house down!
MISS WESTERLEY
When?
MRS. MAPES
Last night! Your father flew to the town as soon as a messenger brought word, but by then there was nothing to do. Sons of Liberty, they call themselves. Chased Oliver’s family out into the night and hung his effigy from a tree!
MISS WESTERLEY
I hope it was a good likeness, at least.
MRS. MAPES
Sir James has been skittish about doing business in the colonies from mere rumors of unrest.
MISS WESTERLEY
So?
MRS. MAPES
We need him to invest more capital.
MISS WESTERLEY
How much is my father selling me for?
MRS. MAPES
Not a farthing, if news of last night reaches Sir James before your picture does. The transaction’ll be as good as dead.
(FARRADAY enters, seen only by MRS.MAPES, who waves him away.)
MISS WESTERLEY
I am irrevocably engaged.
MRS. MAPES
There’s nothing in life as can’t be undone.
MISS WESTERLEY
You’re just jealous because I will be what you never were.
MRS. MAPES
Is that so? Your father tries to hide it, but you may as well know. You may be seeing no more robes like that and might be selling that one off your back for bread, one day.
MISS WESTERLEY
Our farm runs well.
MRS. MAPES
Ay, to a marvel! We barely get enough potatoes out of that rock to feed ourselves. It’s all in ships, and a deal of your father’s wealth sunk in the storms off Bermuda.
MISS WESTERLEY
Sir James still has my own money to fall in love with.
MRS. MAPES
It's all gone through.
MISS WESTERLEY
What!? That cannot be! It was left only to me!
MRS. MAPES
It was your father’s to manage until you’re of age. Your mother should’ve known better.
MISS WESTERLEY
Don’t you dare speak to me of my mother!
(MISS WESTERLEY covers her ears and sings.)
| MRS. MAPES You will listen, and thank me, too, you saucepot! Go on, sing your la-dee-da all you like, you clever girl, but—but— |
MISS WESTERLEY Hark, hark, the dogs do bark, The beggars are coming to town; Some in rags and some in tags And some in silken gowns! |
MRS. MAPES
Are you through with your little baby tantrum?
MISS WESTERLEY
I am not a baby.
MRS. MAPES
I hope not. All our fortunes depend on you.
MISS WESTERLEY
Perhaps I do not wish to marry Sir James.
MRS. MAPES
Of course you do, you silly moppet. I remember when he was last here in the colonies. Such a pair of thighs as you never see on a man of his years.
MISS WESTERLEY
I care nothing for thighs.
MRS. MAPES
Ah, for the day when that tune changes . . .
MISS WESTERLEY
I can live in poverty. Other people do.
MRS. MAPES
And let your father’s concerns fall apart, and all who depend upon him, all the good people here, left to starve? You’ll never have a better chance at real consequence, and you’ll be safer in England. Soon Massachusetts may be no place for a young lady. Your father’ll want to get to England as well. He’ll need your husband’s protection.
MISS WESTERLEY
Then I will be ruled by two men?
MRS. MAPES
Not a bit of it. Your husband will rule your father, and you will rule your husband. Miss Preston’s taught you well thus far. Let me take a turn and complete your education.
MISS WESTERLEY
There is nothing I want to learn from my father’s whore.
MRS. MAPES
And your Miss Preston is any better, think you? She’s no better than she should be, and a snake in our grass to boot.
MISS WESTERLEY
How dare you?
MRS. MAPES
I didn’t like to tell you the truth. But you might as well know. It’s from her that the rebels got Oliver’s name so quick. She’s thick with the lot of them.
MISS WESTERLEY
I don’t believe you.
MRS. MAPES
She has no brother, but a fancy man who set her to spy on us. Ferret out their target for ’em. Rifled through your father’s correspondence to find out who’s like to be named Commissioner of Stamps, then snuck off to town, with you to lie for her.
MISS WESTERLEY
That’s preposterous.
MRS. MAPES
For all we know, she’s turned you against your father already. Filling your head with French philosophy!
MISS WESTERLEY
How do you—?
MRS. MAPES
They’ve had quite a thorough talk indoors. Been through all of her private things, and yours, too.
MISS WESTERLEY
Who dared to go through my things!? This is outrageous! Bring me to Miss Preston at once!
MRS. MAPES
Too late. The sheriff has taken her.
MISS WESTERLEY
The sheriff!?
MRS. MAPES
You’d have seen him ride up behind your father’s coach, if you wasn’t so busy raising a ruckus.
MISS WESTERLEY
My father knew?
MRS. MAPES
Of course. He didn’t like to have her manhandled in front of you. Which I thought was rather decent, considering.
MISS WESTERLEY
And all the while I was kept out of the way here, subjected to this useless pursuit—oh! Take me to her! I must explain about Rousseau, and they will see, it is all a mistake!
MRS. MAPES
What will you explain?
MISS WESTERLEY
That I made her bring me those books.
MRS. MAPES
Miss Preston has explained that already.
MISS WESTERLEY
What did she say?
MRS. MAPES
Only that you’ve known about her visits to her “brother” for nigh on a year, and charged her a high price indeed for your silence. Those books was only one of your demands.
MISS WESTERLEY
She would never say such a thing!
MRS. MAPES
Wouldn’t she, now? Why, she carried on enough about the life you’ve led her, and the way she truly felt about it, to make me believe your father did you a kindness by shutting you away out here, away from the hearing of it. Then she offered her resignation on the spot—
MISS WESTERLEY
Resignation!?
MRS. MAPES
—In so high-handed a manner, you’d think she was the Queen of Sheba. But the evidence was too strong against her. And the sheriff took her.
(MISS WESTERLEY runs to the door and finds FARRADAY and MARCUS there.)
FARRADAY
Miss Westerley, no!
MRS. MAPES
I’ve told you. She is already gone. I know, it’s a shock to your poor feelings. But better to know now, than later, who she really was.
(MISS WESTERLEY stops still, letting the truth sink in.)
Come now, dear. Be a good girl and have some tea and biscuits, and get your picture done as quick as can be. I’ll bide right here so’s all remains proper, and when it’s finished, I’ll bring you in to bed and you can thank your lucky stars that no worse ever came of this. You’ll see. From now on, I’ll be all to you that she was, and more.
MISS WESTERLEY
Why should you suddenly want to be so kind to me?
MRS. MAPES
I’m sure you’ll be kind to your father and me, when the time comes.
MISS WESTERLEY
There it is! No one is disinterested! Least of all you! Get out of here! GO! I will be kind to no one, do you hear!? No one!
(MRS. MAPES heads for the door.)
MRS. MAPES
You come to me whensoever you please. That pernicious biddy Preston was not your friend. Were it not for this young man here, spying her out, you might never have known it.
MISS WESTERLEY
And I esteem him accordingly. Now, go away.
(MRS. MAPES exits. MISS WESTERLEY slams the door behind her.)
FARRADAY
Miss . . . please. Be comforted.
MISS WESTERLEY
Go back to your work.
FARRADAY
Whatever Miss Preston might’ve said to save herself, I’m convinced she did care for you. Please. Take comfort.
(MISS WESTERLEY leaves the carpet.)
Your gown!
MISS WESTERLEY
When I am Lady Taunton I’ll have a hundred such.
FARRADAY
Miss, take care!
MISS WESTERLEY
“Take comfort.” “Take care.”
(to FARRADAY)
Take your care elsewhere.
FARRADAY
It was by chance that I saw Miss Preston . . . where she shouldn’t have been. And innocently did I make mention. Had I known the pain I would cause you . . .
(MISS WESTERLEY goes to the table, drinks some tea, and grabs a biscuit. Chewing heedlessly, she approaches the easel.)
MISS WESTERLEY
How ironic. You stumble upon the closely guarded secret of an unwilling stranger. Yet when you are asked to capture the truth of a subject placed openly before you, you fail miserably.
FARRADAY
You’re hurt. Allow yourself to feel it. You’re among . . . friends.
MISS WESTERLEY
Exalted company, indeed. An illiterate field hand—
FARRADAY
Miss Westerley!
MISS WESTERLEY
—and a Godless vagabond.
FARRADAY
Vagabond!
MISS WESTERLEY
Of the worst kind, because you were brought up for better. Picking cranberries! Living with heathens!
FARRADAY
For which you dubbed me “Noble Savage.”
MISS WESTERLEY
Ha! You wear Rousseau as ill as your smock.
FARRADAY
I opened my heart and soul to you this night.
MISS WESTERLEY
No. You merely indulged in a base and disgusting display of self-pity. A tale of woe that could not be diverted. Almost as if it had been committed to memory. I’ll wager few souls between here and Rhode Island have escaped the hearing of it.
FARRADAY
You dragged that tale out of me!
MARCUS
Please stop!
MISS WESTERLEY
Dragged!? There was no need! On and on, you went. And never wavered—
FARRADAY
And I suppose you only feigned interest. Luring out my secret pain with question after probing question.
MISS WESTERLEY
Interjections, that might have led a reasonable man to more seemly reflection.
FARRADAY
You’re to tell me what is seemly? A spoiled girl who is given every opportunity without deserving it.
MARCUS
Please, stop, I beg you!
MISS WESTERLEY
You shunned your opportunity. Your troubles are no one’s fault but your own. Oh, were I a man, I’d know what to do!
FARRADAY
Is that so? And what would you do in my place?
MISS WESTERLEY
By your own admission you would have been supported to follow in your father’s footsteps. I would simply go into the law and use my own earnings to acquire an education in painting.
FARRADAY
That would take years!
MISS WESTERLEY
Years in which I would gain experience. Consequence. Connections. On my own terms, and be beholden to no one! Oh, were I a man! I should never pour out my shame as you do so readily!
FARRADAY
My crime was not in airing my complaint. It was in wasting my words on such cold, unfeeling ears as yours. Your father was right to require me to paint you in one night. Translucent layers are wasted on a subject so hopelessly opaque!
MARCUS
Don’t say any more!
FARRADAY
Why do you take her part? She repays your kindness by calling you illiterate.
MARCUS
If it means what I think it means, I am.
MISS WESTERLEY
There’s your Noble Savage. But what are you? An artist? With highly developed sensibilities? This drawing is dreadful, and the painting is worse. You might have become an excellent lawyer, but now you will never be anything, Master Farraday. Never anything at all!
(FARRADAY holds up the partially painted portrait.)
FARRADAY
This is what your father thought Sir James could love! Not you!
MARCUS
Sir!
FARRADAY
In every improvement—
MISS WESTERLEY
Improvement!?
MARCUS
Stop!
FARRADAY
My hand was guided by your father’s own mouth! He does not lack discernment. On the contrary. His instructions could not have been more explicit!
MARCUS
You never should have said it.
(MISS WESTERLEY absorbs the blow, and recovers slowly.)
MISS WESTERLEY
It is what I have wanted to understand all along. Thank you, Master Farraday. My father insisted on making me into a poppet, and you dared not defy him. I am now clear as to what this means about me. I hope you see yourself clearly by it as well.
FARRADAY
There was nothing else I could have done.
MISS WESTERLEY
You are ridiculous. Your family is well rid of you.
FARRADAY
As yours would be. Except that no one else will have you.
(MARCUS leaps at FARRADAY and begins blindly swinging.)
Marcus! What did I say to you about spasmodic strokes?
(The joke falls flat and only angers MARCUS the more.
The pair fight in earnest, falling to the filthy floor and really going at it.
MISS WESTERLEY watches, dumbfounded as MARCUS gets the upper hand. Twisting FARRADAY’s arm behind his back, MARCUS stands him before MISS WESTERLEY.)
Runt of the litter, eh?
MARCUS
Say you’re sorry.
FARRADAY
I won’t. I’m not.
MARCUS
Say it!
FARRADAY
You say it, Romeo.
(MARCUS tightens his grip.)
MARCUS
Say you’re sorry.
FARRADAY
Might doesn’t make right.
MARCUS
You’re sorry. Say it.
FARRADAY
Very well. I’m . . . I am.
MARCUS
Am what?
FARRADAY
Marcus. Please. She won’t thank you. She never has.
MARCUS
Say it.
FARRADAY
I am sorry I am covered with straw and dung.
MARCUS
Miss Westerley.
FARRADAY
Miss Westerley.
MARCUS
I am sorry, Miss Westerley.
FARRADAY
All right. I am. I am sorry, Miss Westerley. I am.
(MISS WESTERLEY stares at them and begins to quiver.
The men separate and dust themselves off. FARRADAY wets a cloth to clean his exposed skin.
MISS WESTERLEY goes to the easel. She lifts her hands to her face, tracing her features with trembling fingers, which finally rest lightly upon her cheeks.)
MISS WESTERLEY
My mother looked upon my face with love. I was young, but I am sure my mother looked lovingly upon this face.
(MISS WESTERLEY succumbs to tears. Long-stifled sobs shake her frame.
FARRADAY gazes at her, as if she has suddenly come into focus.)
FARRADAY
Marcus, my own brushes are still clean, yes?
MARCUS
Yes . . .
FARRADAY
Set them out. Quickly. And take this.
(FARRADAY hands Marcus the painted canvas.)
MARCUS
What shall I do with it?
FARRADAY
Burn it for all I care.
MARCUS
But, sir!
FARRADAY
Do as I say, and stop calling me “sir.” You have “mastered” me. Now. You sit here, Miss Westerley. You sit here, quietly, and you look at me.
MISS WESTERLEY
What? Are you going to begin anew?
FARRADAY
Has that not always been your wish? Marcus! We need more raw umber. Mix it quickly, and don’t talk to me!
MARCUS
Yes, s—Yes. Yes, I will.
(FARRADAY paints with the intensity of a mad scientist.)
FARRADAY
Mix up a bit of rose madder. And a soft yellow. Warm, not green. And burnt sienna. Yes! This is it! Shadows on top. Not laborious. One stroke does it! There! Yes! Yes!
MARCUS
Don’t you leave room for the ship?
FARRADAY
No ship. The ship has sailed!
(Lights fade.)
Scene 4
(The next morning. The barn door is now open. Daylight streams in. MISS WESTERLEY sleeps in the chair. MARCUS blows out the lanterns.
FARRADAY still paints but now with calm assurance. The new painting faces upstage and is never seen by the audience. MARCUS looks over his shoulder.)
MARCUS
Our young miss was right.
FARRADAY
About?
MARCUS
Go into the law.
FARRADAY
You don’t know what you’re talking about.
MARCUS
I never know what you’re talking about. My father says that’s a lawyer’s way. So many grand words, a body can hardly answer. You’d make money, meet rich people, and paint ’em only if you like ’em. My father says—
FARRADAY
You clearly have a wiser and kinder father than either she or I, and a life that all would envy.
MARCUS
We put our heads down and save our wages. My brother’s babies’ll get a education like yours and be somethin’ we’ll all take pride in.
FARRADAY
. . .
MARCUS
She looks beautiful. So peaceful.
FARRADAY
She is asleep.
MARCUS
I mean, the painting.
FARRADAY
It is this lack of layers. There is no planning, no contrivance, but all immediacy, and honest response. The depth is not sacrificed, quite the opposite. The depth now, is in the visceral understanding of the subject. I could never achieve this profundity of truth through the methodical application of layers.
MARCUS
That’s wonderful.
FARRADAY
It is.
(Voices approach.)
MRS. MAPES (offstage)
Wait, Uncle!
MR. WESTERLEY (offstage)
Then come along!
(MISS WESTERLEY rises in alarm.)
MISS WESTERLEY
Is it completed?
FARRADAY
See for yourself, miss.
(MISS WESTERLEY looks at the painting. She is deeply moved.
MR. WESTERLEY and MRS. MAPES enter, whispering.)
MRS. MAPES
Be kind. Think of her future position.
MR. WESTERLEY
Hush, woman. Take the girl to her rooms.
MISS WESTERLEY
Is Miss Preston really arrested? What will happen to her?
MR. WESTERLEY
It’s out of our hands.
MISS WESTERLEY
There is no proof she had any part in the violence of last night.
MR. WESTERLEY (to MRS. MAPES)
What have you told her?
MRS. MAPES
Things’ve come to such a pass, we cannot afford to be children.
MISS WESTERLEY
Your word had Miss Preston taken. Your word can free her.
MR. WESTERLEY
I’ll give no such word.
MISS WESTERLEY
Then I will go to her. I am no longer yours to sell, as it seems I’ve already purchased myself.
MR. WESTERLEY
What are you on about?
MISS WESTERLEY
My mother provided for me handsomely—
MRS. MAPES
Anne—
MISS WESTERLEY
If you’ve “managed” my trust into oblivion—
MR. WESTERLEY
Mrs. Mapes!?
MISS WESTERLEY
Should I decide to inquire after my money—
MRS. MAPES
Hush!
MISS WESTERLEY
—I’ve no doubt some impropriety will be evident.
MR. WESTERLEY
I’ll show you impropriety!
(He raises a hand to strike her.)
MISS WESTERLEY
Do it. Mar the merchandise.
MR. WESTERLEY
You think I won’t, before these boys?
MISS WESTERLEY
These boys are the only true men I know.
MR. WESTERLEY
I’ll not brook this insubordination—
MISS WESTERLEY
Free Miss Preston and you needn’t. You have my word. I will consider it money well spent.
MRS. MAPES
Perhaps you ought to think of it, Uncle.
MR. WESTERLEY
Haven’t you said enough?
MRS. MAPES
Forgive me, Uncle. I am a stupid woman. But supposin’ Sir James won’t have the girl in any case. We’ll be stuck here. If the rebels get the upper hand, and they know we sent their friend to the stocks, how will it go with us?
MR. WESTERLEY (to MISS WESTERLEY)
Do you know what the wench said about you?
MISS WESTERLEY
I know what she has been to me.
(MISS WESTERLEY holds his furious glare without a flinch.)
MR. WESTERLEY
I will not have her here.
MISS WESTERLEY
Then let her go where she will.
MR. WESTERLEY
And what? You’ll go join her and her pack of rebels?
MISS WESTERLEY
That is not my place. I’ll secure Sir James, painting or no painting. It is as his wife that I can be of most use in this dread world.
MRS. MAPES
There now, you see? She’s talking real sense.
MR. WESTERLEY
To bed with you.
(MISS WESTERLEY extends her hands to FARRADAY and MARCUS.)
MRS. MAPES
Oh, la. Lower your arms, dear.
(MRS. MAPES tries to lower the girl’s arms. She resists stoically, casting a look of recognition toward FARRADAY and MARCUS. Both nod understanding but don’t dare take her hand.
She lowers her arms of her own accord and turns to the easel.)
MISS WESTERLEY
How do you find me, Father? Compared to the advertisement? Not too far afield?
(MR. WESTERLEY looks from the painting to his daughter and back a few times. It’s as if he’s seeing her for the first time.)
MR. WESTERLEY
For the last time. To bed, my girl.
(MISS WESTERLEY allows herself to be led out by MRS. MAPES.
MR. WESTERLEY turns on FARRADAY.)
Where is her headdress? This is a clear breach.
MRS. MAPES
Ship or no ship, I’m carried adrift by it.
FARRADAY
In place of the British flags at the ship’s masts, I’ve placed red, blue, and gold ribbons in your daughter’s hair.
MR. WESTERLEY
As to the hair. There is no wig, either. And no powder.
MRS. MAPES
Just the touch to set off the colors of the standard, I should think. Very clever, Master Farraday.
MR. WESTERLEY
I think I see the notch.
FARRADAY
That is a brush stroke, sir.
MR. WESTERLEY
Smooth it out.
FARRADAY
Very well. There. How do you find it otherwise?
MR. WESTERLEY
It’s not what I asked for. You did not paint the ship.
FARRADAY
I thought it detracted from her beauty.
MR. WESTERLEY
I did not ask you to think.
FARRADAY
However, I am a living creature who thinks without prompting.
MRS. MAPES
Oh, la.
FARRADAY
The painting goes on a ship, or a ship goes on the painting. Which do you prefer?
MR. WESTERLEY
What is the meaning of this insolence?
FARRADAY
We artists do have our peculiarities.
MR. WESTERLEY
Or a chit of a girl has shamed you into courage.
MRS. MAPES
Leave it be, Uncle. The picture’s better this way. What do you always say about “tipping your hand” in your dealings? The ship and the flags might’ve seemed a bit . . . eager.
MR. WESTERLEY
Mrs. Mapes, you overstep—!
MRS. MAPES
Then I’ll step back. And you do the same. Behold. This picture’ll more than suit the purpose. Any man would fall hard. Go on. Admit, it’s a lovely picture.
MR. WESTERLEY
It is . . . adequate.
FARRADAY
You find it more than adequate, sir. I see it in your eyes.
MR. WESTERLEY
I’ve had a sleepless night. That’s all you see.
FARRADAY
Your daughter saw it, too.
MR. WESTERLEY
Mrs. Mapes will not sit for you. You will no longer be needed here.
FARRADAY
That suits me perfectly.
MR. WESTERLEY
I’ll have the cart collect you. But as you disobeyed my instructions, give me one good reason I ought to pay you.
FARRADAY
How will you transport the painting, in its present condition?
MR. WESTERLEY
Meaning?
FARRADAY
It is wet.
MR. WESTERLEY
When will it dry?
FARRADAY
In this stifling air, I would say a week.
MR. WESTERLEY
It must go out immediately.
FARRADAY
I could construct a special housing to protect it. It would dry safely on the journey. If I am paid as per our original agreement.
MR. WESTERLEY
You may as well take the tools. I’ll have no use for them.
FARRADAY
Thank you, sir.
MR. WESTERLEY
They’re worth more than your fee. But no matter. We’ll call it an even trade.
FARRADAY
Trade?
MR. WESTERLEY
Tools, or tender. You can’t expect to have both.
FARRADAY
Keep the tools, then.
MR. WESTERLEY
We are descending into lawlessness. It’s foolhardy traveling with a purse full of coin.
FARRADAY
I’ll take my chances.
MR. WESTERLEY
Boy, alert Smith when the painting is ready for transport.
MARCUS
Yes, sir.
(MR. WESTERLEY exits.)
FARRADAY
One day, Marcus. Perhaps one day soon. Hard work like yours and mine will be rewarded with opportunity. And this land will be ruled by the common wisdom of many, rather than the engorged purses of a few.
MARCUS
I’ll get the wood for the crate.
FARRADAY
I’m afraid you’ll have to return to the fields, while it is yet August.
MARCUS
Truth be told, sir, I don’t recollect the fields ever getting so hot as what it got in here.
(MARCUS exits.
FARRADAY gazes at MISS WESTERLEY’s portrait. A smile gradually spreads over his face as he begins packing his knapsack. Lights fade.
End of play.)
