Half Moon Street tp-20 Read online

  The lights dimmed and a hush fell over the auditorium. Everyone straightened up and looked towards the stage.

  The curtain rose on a domestic scene in a beautiful withdrawing room. There were half a dozen people present, but the spotlight caught only one of them. The rest seemed drab compared with the almost luminous quality she possessed. She was unusually tall and extremely slender, but there was a grace in her even when motionless. Her fair hair caught the light, and the strong, clean bones of her face were ageless.

  She spoke, and the drama began.

  Pitt had expected to be entertained, perhaps as much by the occasion as by the play. That was not what happened. He found himself drawn in from the moment he saw Cecily Antrim. There was an emotional vitality in her which conveyed loneliness and a devastating sense of need, so that he ached for her. He became unaware of his own surroundings. For him reality was the withdrawing room on the stage. The people playing out their lives were of intense importance.

  The character of Cecily Antrim was married to an older man, upright, honest, but incapable of passion. He loved her, within his own limits, and he was loyal and possessive. Certainly he did not ignore her, and it would have been beyond his comprehension to betray her. Yet he was slowly killing something inside her which, as they watched, was beginning to fight for life.

  There was another man, younger, with more fire and imagination, more hunger of the soul. From the time they met their mutual attraction was inevitable. That issue was not what the playwright wished to explore, nor what would occupy the vast majority of the audience. The question was what would each of the characters do about it. The husband, the wife, the young man, his fiancee, her parents, all had fears and beliefs which governed their reactions, inhibitions which distorted the truth they might otherwise have spoken, expectations taught them by their lives and their society. Above all, was there any avenue of escape for the wife, who could not institute divorce, though the husband could have had he wanted?

  As Pitt watched he found himself reconsidering his own assumptions about men and women, what each expected of the other and of the happiness marriage might afford-or deny. He had expected passion and fulfillment, and he had found it. Of course there were times of loneliness, misunderstanding, exasperation, but on the whole he could only feel a deep and abiding happiness. But how many others felt the same? Was it something one had the right to expect?

  More urgently and far more painfully, had any man the right to expect a woman to conceal and endure his inadequacies as the character on stage demanded of his wife? The audience was intensely aware of her loneliness, of the weight of his inability which was crushing her, but no one else was, except the young lover, and he understood only a part of it. The flame that burned within her was too great for him also. In the end one feared he would be charred by it.

  The wife had duties towards the husband, physical duties on the rare occasions he wished, duties of obedience, tact, domestic responsibility, and the need always to behave with discretion and decorum.

  Legally he had no such duties toward her-what about morally? Unquestionably he had to provide her with a home, to be sober and honest and to take his pleasures, whatever they might be, with a corresponding discretion. But had he a duty of physical passion? Or was the need for it unbecoming in a decent woman? If he had given her children, should that be enough?

  Cecily Antrim, in every movement of her body, inflection of her voice, showed that it was not enough. She was dying of an inner loneliness which consumed her being. Was she unreasonable, overdemanding, selfish, even indecent? Or was she only voicing what a million other silent women might feel?

  It was a disquieting thought. As the curtains drew closed and the lights blazed up again, Pitt turned to look at Caroline.

  Caroline herself was as deeply disturbed by the first act of the play as Pitt had been, but in different ways. It was not the questions of hunger and loyalty which disturbed her most, at least it was not the answer to them; it was the fact that they should be raised at all. Such matters were intensely private. They were the thoughts one had alone, in darker moments of confusion and self-doubt, and dismissed when common sense prevailed.

  She did not even look across at Joshua, embarrassed to meet his eyes. Nor did she wish to look at Pitt. In showing her emotions so nakedly on the stage, Cecily Antrim had, in a very real sense, stripped the decent clothes of modesty and silence from all women. Caroline could not forgive her easily for that.

  “Brilliant!” Joshua’s voice came softly beside her. “I’ve never seen anyone else who could combine such a delicacy of touch with such power of feeling. Don’t you think so?”

  Caroline felt the movement as he looked towards her.

  “She is extraordinary,” she answered with honesty. She never doubted for an instant that he was referring to Cecily Antrim. No one in the entire theatre would have needed assurance on that. She hoped her voice had not sounded as cool as she felt. He had made no secret of how profoundly he admired Cecily. Caroline wondered now if the regard was personal as well as professional. It brushed by her with a coldness she preferred to dismiss.

  “I knew you would love her,” Joshua went on. “She has a moral courage which is almost unique. Nothing deters her from fighting for her beliefs.”

  Caroline made herself smile. She refused to ask what those beliefs were. After watching the first act of the play, she greatly preferred not to know.

  “You are quite right,” she said with as much enthusiasm as she could manage. She was no actress at all. “I always admire courage. . more than almost any other quality. . except perhaps kindness.”

  Joshua’s reply was cut short by a knock at the door of the box. He stood up to reply, and a moment later a man in his late forties came in, tall and slim with a mild, rather austere face. The woman beside him was almost beautiful. Her features were regular, her eyes wide, deep-set and very blue. There was perhaps a lack of humor in her which robbed her of the final magic.

  They were a Mr. and Mrs. Marchand. Caroline had known them for over a year and enjoyed their company on many occasions. She was pleased they had called. Without question they would feel as she did regarding the play. In fact, she was surprised they had come to see it. Like her, they could not have known its content.

  Their first remarks after being introduced to Pitt proved her correct.

  “Extraordinary!” Ralph Marchand said quietly, his face reflecting his puzzlement. He avoided Caroline’s eyes, as if he had not yet overcome his embarrassment at the subject and could not easily discuss it in a woman’s company.

  Joshua offered Mrs. Marchand his seat, and she accepted it, thanking him.

  “Remarkable woman,” Mr. Marchand went on, obviously referring to Cecily Antrim. “I realize, of course, that she is merely acting what the playwright has written, but I am sorry a woman of such talent should lend herself to this. And frankly I am surprised that the Lord Chamberlain permitted it a license to be performed!”

  Joshua leaned gracefully against the wall near the edge of the red, plush-padded balcony, his hands in his pockets. “Actually I should be very surprised if she didn’t have considerable sympathy with the character,” he replied. “I think it was a part she chose to play.”

  Mr. Marchand looked surprised and, Caroline thought, also disappointed.

  “Really? Oh. .”

  “I cannot understand the Lord Chamberlain either,” Mrs. Marchand said sadly, her blue eyes very wide. “He is lacking in his duties that he has not exercised his power to censor it. He is supposed to be there for our protection. That, after all, is his purpose, isn’t it?”

  “Of course it is, my dear,” her husband assured her. “It seems he does not appreciate the harm his laxity is doing.”

  Caroline glanced at Joshua. She knew his views on censorship, and she was afraid he would say something which would offend the Marchands, but she did not know how to prevent it without in turn hurting him. “It is a difficult decision,” she said tentat
ively.

  “It may require courage,” Mrs. Marchand replied without hesitation. “But if he accepts the office then we have the right to expect that much of him.”

  Caroline could understand exactly what she meant. She knew instinctively her concerns, and yet she was equally sure Joshua would not. She was surprised how moderate his answer was when he spoke.

  “Protection is a double-edged sword, Mrs. Marchand.” He did not move from his relaxed position against the corner of the balcony, but Caroline could see the more angular lines of his body as his muscles tensed.

  Mrs. Marchand looked at him guardedly. “Double-edged?” she enquired.

  “What is it you would like to be protected from?” Joshua kept his voice level and gentle.

  Mr. Marchand moved slightly, only a changing of weight.

  “From the corruption of decency,” Mrs. Marchand replied, anger and certainty ringing in her tone. Unconsciously she put her hand towards her husband. “From the steady destruction of our way of life by the praising of immorality and selfishness. The teaching of young and impressionable people that self-indulgence is acceptable, even good. The exhibiting in public of emotions and practices which should remain private. It cheapens and demeans that which should be sacred. . ”

  Caroline knew what she meant, and she more than half agreed with her. The Marchands had a young son, about sixteen years old. Caroline could remember when her daughters were that age, and how hard she had worked to guide and protect them. It had been less difficult then.

  She looked at Joshua, knowing he would disagree. But then he had never had children, and that made a world of difference. He had no one to protect in that passionate way that demanded all commitment.

  “Is self-denial better than self-indulgence?” Joshua questioned.

  Mrs. Marchand’s dark eyebrows rose. “Of course it is. How can you need to ask?”

  “But is not one person’s self-denial only the reverse side, the permission, if you like, for another’s self-indulgence?” he asked. He leaned forward a little. “Take the play, for example. When the wife denied herself, was she not making it possible for the husband to delude and indulge himself?”

  “I. .” Mrs. Marchand began, then stopped. She was convinced she was right, but not sure how to explain it.

  Caroline knew what she meant. The husband’s suffering was public, his wife’s had been private, one of the many things one did not speak of.

  “She is disloyal,” Mr. Marchand said for his wife. His voice was not raised in the slightest, but there was a ring of unshakable conviction in it. “Disloyalty can never be right. We should not portray it as such and seek sympathy for it. To do so confuses people who may be uncertain. Women may be led to feel that the wife’s behavior is excusable.”

  The smile stayed fixed on Joshua’s face. “And on the other hand, men may be led to question if perhaps their wives have as much need, even right, to happiness as they have,” he countered. “They may even realize that life would be better for both of them if they were to understand that women cannot be married and then safely considered to be purchased, for use when desired, like a carpet sweeper or a clothes mangle.”

  Mr. Marchand looked confused. “A what?”

  “A clothes mangle,” Joshua replied with a sudden shift to lightness. “A machine for wringing the excess water out of laundry.”

  “I have no idea what you mean!” Marchand looked at Caroline.

  But it was Pitt who interpreted for him. “I think what Mr. Fielding is saying is that one person’s protection may be another person’s imprisonment; or one person’s idea of freedom another’s idea of license,” he explained. “If we refuse to look at anyone else’s pain because it is different from ours and makes us feel uncomfortable-or because it is the same and embarrasses us-then we are neither a liberal nor a generous society, and we will slowly suffocate ourselves to death.”

  “Good heavens!” Mr. Marchand said softly. “You are very radical, sir.”

  “I thought I was rather conservative,” Pitt said with surprise. “I found the play distinctly uncomfortable as well.”

  “But do you think it should be suppressed?” Joshua said quickly.

  Pitt hesitated. “That’s a harsh step to take. . ”

  “It subverts decency and family life,” Mrs. Marchand put in, leaning forward over her taffeta skirts, her hands folded.

  “It questions values,” Joshua corrected. “Must we never do that? Then how can we grow? We shall never learn anything or improve upon anything. Worse than that, we shall never understand other people, and perhaps not ourselves either.” His face was keen, the emotion naked now as he forgot his intended moderation. “If we do that we are hardly worth the nobility of being human, of having intelligence, freedom of will, or the power of judgment.”

  Caroline could see the imminent possibility of the discussion’s becoming ugly and a friendship’s being lost.

  “It is a matter of how they are questioned,” she said in haste.

  Joshua regarded her seriously. “The image that has the power to disturb is the only one that has the power to change. Growth is often painful, but to not grow is to begin to die.”

  “Are you saying everything perishes sooner or later?” Mr. Marchand asked. He sounded almost casual, but there was a rigidity in his hands, in his body, which belied any ease. “I don’t believe that. I am sure there are values which are eternal.”

  Joshua straightened up. “Of course there are,” he agreed. “It is a matter of understanding them, and that is more difficult. One must test the truth often, or it will become polluted by ignorance and misuse.” He smiled, but his eyes were steady. “It’s like the dusting in a good household. It has to be done every day.”

  Hope Marchand looked puzzled. She glanced at Caroline, then away again.

  Mr. Marchand offered her his arm. “I think it is time we returned to our seats, my dear. We don’t wish to spoil other people’s enjoyment by disturbing them when the performance has begun.” He turned to Caroline. “So nice to see you again, Mrs. Fielding.” Then to Pitt and to Joshua he added, “And to meet you, Mr. Pitt. I hope you enjoy the evening.” A moment later they were gone.

  Caroline took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  Joshua grinned at her. The expression lit his face with warmth and laughter, and her fear evaporated. She wanted to warn him how close he had come to confusing and hurting people, to explain why they were afraid, but her anger evaporated, and instead she simply smiled back.

  The lights dimmed and the curtain rose for the second act.

  Caroline directed her attention to the stage, where the drama continued to develop. It could only end in tragedy. The character played by Cecily Antrim hungered for more passion in life than the society in which she was could either give or understand. She was trapped among people who were increasingly disturbed and frightened by her.

  Her husband would not divorce her, and she had no power to divorce him and no justification to leave. Even her misery was from no cause she could explain to anyone who did not share it.

  Whether she could ever have behaved differently was a question not yet raised, but Caroline was asking herself even while the scene was playing itself out in front of her. She did not wish to identify with Cecily Antrim, a creature of ungovernable emotions, wayward, indiscreet, allowing far too much of herself to be known, and in so doing betraying the inner thoughts of all women.

  Caroline was angry for the sense of embarrassment. She wanted to turn away, as one does if accidentally intruding on someone in a private moment. One says nothing, and both parties pretend it did not happen. It was the only way to make civilized living possible. There are things one does not see, words one does not voice, and if they slip out in a moment of heat, they are never repeated. Secrets are necessary.

  And here was this actress stripping the coverings of discretion from her very soul and showing the need and the pain, the laughter and the vulnerability, to everyone with th
e price of a ticket to watch.

  The character of the husband was well acted, but he was there to be torn apart, to evoke anger and frustration, and in the end Caroline knew it would be pity as well.

  The fiancee also evoked a certain compassion. She was an ordinary girl who could not begin to fight against the woman, all but twice her age, whose subtlety and fire swept away the man she thought she had won. The audience knew the battle for him was lost before the first blow was struck.

  The fiancee’s brother was more interesting, not as a character in the play but because the actor who portrayed him had a remarkable presence, even in so relatively minor a part. He was tall and fair. It was difficult to tell his real age, but it must have been no more than twenty-five at the most. He had a sensitivity which came across the footlights, an emotion one was aware of even though he gave it few words. It was an inner energy, something of the mind. He in no sense played to the gallery, but there can have been few in the audience who would not remember him afterwards.

  When the second act ended and the lights went up again Caroline did not look at Joshua or Pitt. She did not want to know what they had thought or felt about it, but more than that, she did not wish to betray her own feelings, and she was afraid they would be too readable in her eyes.

  There was a knock on the door of the box again, and Joshua went to open it.

  Outside was one of Joshua’s fellow actors whom Caroline knew slightly, a man named Charles Leigh. Beside him stood a second man of completely different countenance, taller, a little heavier. There was an intelligence in his face and a humor which lit his eyes even before he spoke, but it was his resemblance to her first husband which for a moment made the breath catch in her throat.

  “I should like you to meet my visitor from America, Samuel Ellison. Mr. and Mrs. Fielding, and. .” Leigh began.

  “Mr. Pitt,” Joshua supplied. “How do you do.”