Three of the windows on the upper floor must be practicable. The window of MADAME FOSCO'S room in the middle; the window of SIR PERCIVAL'S room on the (actor's) right; and the window of MISS HALCOMBE'S room on the left. All the windows look out on the sloping roof of an iron verandah, which shades the windows on the ground-floor. The light pillars which support the verandah are placed at wide distances apart, so as to allow space between them for the action of the scene. The largest room on the ground-floor is the drawing-room. COUNT FOSCO'S canaries are seen in their cage on a table in the room, which occupies a central position under the verandah. The window is made on the French plan, and is open to the ground. The lighted drawing-room is seen through the window, and is entered by a door at the back, opening into the interior of the house. On the space under the verandah, outside the drawing-room, are placed one or two chairs and a small table.
Next to the drawing-room (and divided from it by one of the pillars of the verandah) are the smaller French windows of the study--two in number. Both these windows are open. Before one of them is placed a sofa, with the head towards the centre of the stage. The second window serves as an entrance to the study, which, like the drawing-room, is lit up, and has a door at the back, In front of the verandah, the stage represents a lawn, with a gravel walk at one side. Some garden-chairs are placed [34]here and there. The entrances, right and left, at the side, are masked by shrubs and flowers. The time is night. A bright moonlight falls on the scene, and contrasts with the red light of the lamps in the drawing-room and the study.
At the rise of the curtain MISS HALCOMBE and LAURA (in evening dress) are seen in the drawing-room, LAURA being dressed entirely in white. They pass out under the verandah into the garden, and pace slowly backwards and forwards on the lawn while they speak.
Laura. It is so delightful, Marian, to see your face again! I can almost fancy myself back at Limmeridge in the dear old times.
Mar. (stopping, and looking at her). Laura! You have only been married a month to-day. Are you looking back longingly at the old life already?
Laura. Why not? The old life was the happy life!
Mar. Are you not happy now?
Laura. Quite happy, my dear, with you.
Mar. And with your husband?
Laura (changing the subject). How unbearable the heat is to-night. Not even a breath of air on the lawn!
Mar. Why don't you answer my question? Why are you silent about your married life?
Laura. The subject is so uninteresting, Marian. Will it do if I say I am resigned to my married life? There is no confidence between my husband and me. He is devoured by anxieties--money anxieties, I suspect--of which I know nothing. Have I answered your question? Need I say anything more?
Mar. Shut out from your husband's confidence? Resigned to your married life? Oh, my darling, I had hoped for something better than this!
Laura (bitterly). Nothing better was to be hoped, Marian. My future and Walter's future ended on the day when you told him he must go.
Mar. (stopping her). Laura! Laura! you must not think of Walter now!
Laura (passionately). Say I must not live! Say I must have a stone in the place of a heart! Don't say I mustn't think of him. You are a woman--you know I must. My [35]thoughts are my own! (She suddenly throws her arms round MARIAN'S neck.) Oh, Marian, it's an innocent interest, a sisterly interest, I feel in him now! Have you heard from him? I don't ask if he is happy--I only ask if you have heard from him?
Mar. Promise me this shall be the first and last time you speak of him!
Laura (sadly). Yes.
Mar. He has tried to obtain the post of draughtsman to a foreign expedition, and has failed. He has asked for my interest to help him in obtaining some other employment out of England. I am exerting my interest. I can tell you no more.
Laura (to herself). Out of England! Far, far away from me. Ah, I understand him!
Mar. (changing the subject). Come! you must have something to tell me since we parted. How did the time pass in the Isle of Wight?
Laura (absently). We had some pleasant sailing. A friend of Sir Percival's lent him a yacht.
Mar. (aside). Sir Percival! (To LAURA.) Did you meet with any friends of ours?
Laura. One or two.
Mar. Any news?
Laura. None worth repeating.
Mar. No news of Anne Catherick?
Laura (rousing herself, and showing some interest). The very question I was going to ask you! Have you heard nothing?
Mar. Nothing whatever.
Laura. Isn't it strange? I wrote to the post-office, Carlisle. My letter remains unclaimed. You went to Carlisle to inquire, and nothing came of it. Even the people at the asylum have failed to find a trace of her since. What does it mean?
Mar. Somebody must be interested in concealing her. I can think of no better explanation than that.
Laura (whispering). You don't suspect Sir Percival----
Mar. Certainly not! The proprietor of the asylum--a perfectly respectable man--certified that the poor creature was mad. Mrs. Catherick declared Sir Percival's interest in her daughter to be a purely charitable interest, and Sir [36]Percival's conduct in placing Anne in the asylum to be such as to merit her sincerest gratitude. Your husband's innocence in that matter was established, Laura, or you would never have been his wife.
Laura (thoughtfully). Somebody interested in concealing her? Who can the person be?
Mar. Patience, my dear! Time will show.
(FOSCO and MADAME FOSCO enter the drawing-room and approach the table on which the birdcage is placed. FOSCO addresses the birds. LAURA starts and draws MARIAN aside at the first sound of his voice.)
Fosco. Ha! my small chirruping children, my pretty little feathered family. Are you awake still? Fie! fie! my babies. Go to bed! go to bed!
Laura. Come this way, Marian. Don't let the count see us!
Mar. Why not?
Laura. I hate him!
Fosco (to the birds). Won't you go to sleep? Come out then, my pret-pret-pretties, and perform for Madame Fosco. (He opens the cage, and takes out two of the birds.) Now go up-stairs, one at a time! (The birds hop up the outstretched fingers of one of his hands, and perch together on his thumb.) Now sing to Madame Fosco--sing! sing! sing!--till you burst your throats! (The birds sing. FOSCO applauds them as if he was at the opera.) Bravi! bra-bra-bra! Now kiss your good papa! (He lifts the birds' beaks to his lips.) Now go and pay your visit to Madame Fosco--a visit of affection to good mamma!
(He makes the birds repeat their performances on MADAME FOSCO'S fingers, while the dialogue proceeds between LAURA and MARIAN. The birds end by perching at the word of command on MADAME FOSCO'S head. FOSCO'S gestures show the interest of a child in the exhibition.)
Laura. Odious old wretch! Do you hear him, Marian, with his canaries? Those birds are imps--and the count is the demon who commands them.
Mar. Hush! hush!
Laura. I can't endure the count. He has come here--[37]you may rely upon it--about those money difficulties that I spoke of just now.