CLARA. To comfort you for the pains of the country, Joan.
JOAN. O mistress, let us stop a moment longer in this quiet place so that I may slip them on and see how they become me.
CLARA. As you will. Listen, that is the cuckoo singing.
JOAN. [Throwing off her cotton bonnet and shawl and dressing herself hastily in the bonnet and cloak.] O what must it feel like to be a grand lady and wear such things from dawn to bed time.
CLARA. I am very glad to be without them for a while. How good the air feels on my head.
JOAN. There, mistress, how do I look?
CLARA. Very nicely, Joan. So nicely that if you like, you may keep them upon you for the remainder of the way.
JOAN. O mistress, may I really do so?
CLARA. Yes. And Joan, do you go onwards to the farm by the quickest path which is through this wood and across the high road. Anyone will shew you where the place is. I have a mind to wander about in some of the meadows which I remember. But I will join you all in good time.
JOAN. Very well, mistress. If I set off in a few moments it will do, I suppose? I should just like to take a peep at myself as I am now, in the little gla.s.s which you carry in your silk bag.
CLARA. [Going off.] Don"t spend too much time looking at what will be shewn you, Joan.
JOAN. Never fear, mistress. I"ll be there afore you, if I have to run all the way. [CLARA wanders off.
[JOAN sits down again on the trunk of the fallen tree. She opens the silken bag, draws out a small hand gla.s.s and looks long and steadily at her own reflection. Then she glances furtively around and, seeing that she is quite alone, she takes a small powder box from the bag and hastily opening it, she gives her face several hurried touches with the powder puff.
JOAN. [Surveying the effect in the gla.s.s.] Just to take off the brown of my freckles. Now if any one was to come upon me sitting here they wouldn"t know as I was other than a real, high lady. All covered with this nice cloak as I be, the French bonnet on my head, and powder to my face, who"s to tell the difference? But O--these must be hid first.
[She perceives her cotton bonnet and little shawl on the ground. She hastily rolls them up in a small bundle and stuffs them into the silken bag. Then she takes up the gla.s.s and surveys herself again.
JOAN. How should I act now if some grand gentleman was to come up and commence talking to me? Perhaps he might even take me for a lady of t.i.tle in these fine clothes, and "twould be a pity to have to undeceive him.
[She arranges her hair a little under the bonnet and then lowers the lace veil over her face.
[MILES and LUKE come slowly up behind her. MILES nudges LUKE with his elbow, signing to him to remain where he is whilst he steps forward in front of JOAN.
MILES. Pardon me, madam, but you appear to have mistook the way.
Allow me to set you on the right path for Ox Lease.
JOAN. [Letting the mirror fall on her lap and speaking very low.]
How do you know I am going to Ox Lease, sir?
MILES. You see, madam, I happen to know that a stylish young miss from town is expected there to-day.
LUKE. [Coming forward and speaking in a loud whisper.] Now Miles.
I count as you made one of the biggest blunders of the time. Our young lady be journeying along of her servant wench. This one baint she.
MILES. If we have made a small error, madam, allow me to beg your pardon.
JOAN. Don"t mention it, sir. Everyone is mistaken sometimes.
LUKE. Well, I"m powerful sorry if we have given any offence, mam.
JOAN. [Looking up at LUKE with sudden boldness and speaking in a slow, affected voice.] There"s nothing to make so much trouble about, sir.
MILES. Can we be of any a.s.sistance to you, madam? The wood may appear rather dense at this point.
JOAN. That it does. Dense and dark--and the pathway! My goodness, but my feet have never travelled over such rough ground before.
Muss. That I am sure of, madam. I have no doubt that the delicate texture of your shoes has been sadly treated by our stones and ruts.
JOAN. [Insensibly pulling her skirts over her thick walking shoes.]
Well, it"s vastly different to London streets, where I generally take exercise--at least when I"m not a-riding in the coach.
MILES. The country is but a sad place at the best, Miss Clara Spring.
JOAN. [Looking round furtively and speaking in a whisper.] O, how did you guess my--my name?
LUKE. Come, "twasn"t a hard matter, that.
MILES. Missey can command my services.
JOAN. [Rallying, and standing up.] Then gentlemen, do you walk a bit of the road with me and we could enjoy some conversation as we go along.
LUKE. [Offering his arm.] You take my arm, Miss Clara--do--.
MILES. [Also offering his arm.] I shall also give myself the pleasure of supporting Miss.
JOAN. [Taking an arm of each.] O thank you, kindly gentlemen. Now we shall journey very comfortably, I am sure.
[They all set out walking in the direction of the farm.
ACT II.--Scene 1.
The kitchen of Ox Lease Farm. There are three doors. One opens to the staircase, one to the garden and a third into the back kitchen.
At a table in the middle of the room EMILY stands ironing some net window curtains. JESSIE and ROBIN lean against the table watching her. By the open doorway, looking out on the garden, stands THOMAS, a mug of cider in one hand and a large slice of bread in the other.
As he talks, he takes alternate drinks and bites.
EMILY. [Speaking in a shrill, angry voice.] Now Thomas, suppose you was to take that there bread a step further away and eat it in the garden, if eat it you must, instead of crumbling it all over my clean floor.
THOMAS. Don"t you be so testy, Emily. The dogs"ll lick the crumbs up as clean as you like presently.
EMILY. Dogs? I"d like to see the dog as"ll shew its nose in here to-day when I"ve got it all cleaned up against the coming of fine young madam.
THOMAS. [Finishing his bread and looking wistfully at his empty hand.] The little maid"ll take a brush and sweep up her daddy"s crumbs, now, won"t her?