The Mousetrap

LADYTRESSILIAN. Conscience. Nevile feels guilty about Audrey and is trying to justify himself. (Mary rises, moves above the armchairL. C. and puts the silks in the work-basket.) Oh! I don’t understand any of this modern nonsense. (To Mary.) Do you? (Royde puts his glass on the coffee table.)

MARY. In a way.

LADYTRESSILIAN. And you, Thomas?

ROYDE. Understand Audrey—but I don’t understand Nevile. It’s not like Nevile.

TREVES. I agree. Not like Nevile at all, to go looking for trouble. (Mary transfers Royde’s and Treves’ glasses to the butler’s tray.)

MARY. Perhaps it was Audrey’s suggestion.

LADYTRESSILIAN. Oh, no. Nevile says it was entirely his idea.

MARY. Perhaps he thinks it was. (Treves looks sharply at Mary.)

LADYTRESSILIAN. What a fool the boy is, bringing two women together who are both in love with him. (Royde looks sharply at Lady Tressilian.) Audrey has behaved perfectly, but Nevile himself has paid far too much attention to her, and as a result Kay has become jealous, and as she has no kind of self-control, it is all most embarrassing—(To Treves.) isn’t it? (Treves, gazing towards the French windows, does not hear.) Mathew?

TREVES. There is undeniably a certain tension . . .

LADYTRESSILIAN. I’m glad you admit it. (There is a knock on the door L.) Who’s that?

MARY. (Moving to the doorL.) Mrs. Barrett, I expect, wanting to know something.

LADYTRESSILIAN. (Irritably.) I wish you could teach these women that they only knock on bedroom doors. (Mary exits L.) The last so-called butler we had, actually whistled, Come into the garden, Maud, as he served at table. (Mary enters L.)

MARY. It’s only about the lunch, Camilla. I’ll see to it. (Mary exits L.)

LADYTRESSILIAN. I don’t know what I should do without Mary. She’s so self-effacing that I sometimes wonder whether she has a self of her own.

TREVES. I know. She’s been with you nearly two years now, but what’s her background?

LADYTRESSILIAN. Her father was a professor of some kind, I believe. He was an invalid and she nursed him for years. Poor Mary, she’s never had any life of her own. And now, perhaps, it’s too late. (She rises and puts her sewing in the work-box.)

TREVES. I wonder. (He strolls to the French windows.) They’re still playing tennis. (Royde rises, moves and stands behind Treves, gazing off R.)

LADYTRESSILIAN. Nevile and Kay?

TREVES. No, Kay and that friend of hers from the Easterhead Bay Hotel—young Latimer.

LADYTRESSILIAN. That theatrical-looking young man. (She moves toL. of the coffee table.) Just the sort of friend she would have.

TREVES. One wonders what he does for a living.

LADYTRESSILIAN. Lives by his wits, I imagine.

TREVES. (Moving slowly downR.) Or by his looks. A decorative young man. (Dreamily.) Interesting shaped head. The last man I saw with a head shaped like that was at the Central Criminal Court—a case of brutal assault on an elderly jeweller.

LADYTRESSILIAN. Mathew! Do you mean to tell me . . . ?

TREVES. (Perturbed.) No, no, no, you misunderstand me. I am making no suggestion of any kind. I was only commenting on a matter of anatomical structure.

LADYTRESSILIAN. Oh, I thought . . .

TREVES. What reminded me of that was that I met a very old friend of mine this morning, Superintendent Battle of Scotland Yard. He’s staying down here on holiday with his nephew who’s in the local police.

LADYTRESSILIAN. You and your interest in criminology. The truth is I am thoroughly jumpy—I feel the whole time as though something was going to happen. (She moves on to the rostrum.)

TREVES. (Crossing and standing downR. of Lady Tressilian.) Yes, there is a suggestion of gunpowder in the air. One little spark might set off an explosion.

LADYTRESSILIAN. Must you talk as though you were Guy Fawkes? Say something cheerful.

TREVES. (Turning and smiling at her.) What can I say? “Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them—but not for love.”