Part 1
# Votes for Women: A Play in Three Acts ### By Robins, Elizabeth
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Transcriber's note.
Minor punctuation inconsistencies have been silently repaired. A list of other changes made, can be found at the end of the book.
Mark up: _italics_
VOTES FOR WOMEN
A PLAY IN THREE ACTS
BY ELIZABETH ROBINS
MILLS & BOON, LIMITED 49 WHITCOMB STREET LONDON W. C. 1909
COURT THEATRE PLAYBILL
VOTES FOR WOMEN!
A Dramatic Tract in Three Acts
By ELIZABETH ROBINS
Lord John Wynnstay Mr. ATHOL FORDE The Hon. Geoffrey Stonor Mr. AUBREY SMITH Mr. St. John Greatorex Mr. E. HOLMAN CLARK Mr. Richard Farnborough Mr. P. CLAYTON GREENE Mr. Freddy Tunbridge Mr. PERCY MARMONT Mr. Allen Trent Mr. LEWIS CASSON [1]Mr. Walker Mr. EDMUND GWENN Lady John Wynnstay Miss MAUD MILTON Mrs. Heriot Miss FRANCES IVOR Miss Vida Levering Miss WYNNE-MATTHISON [1]Miss Beatrice Dunbarton Miss JEAN MACKINLAY Mrs. Freddy Tunbridge Miss GERTRUDE BURNETT Miss Ernestine Blunt Miss DOROTHY MINTO A Working Woman Miss AGNES THOMAS
## ACT I. Wynnstay House in Hertfordshire.
## ACT II. Trafalgar Square, London.
## ACT III. Eaton Square, London.
The Entire Action of the Play takes place between Sunday noon and six o'clock in the evening of the same day.
[1] In the text these characters have been altered to Mr. PILCHER and Miss JEAN Dunbarton.
CAST
LORD JOHN WYNNSTAY LADY JOHN WYNNSTAY _His wife_ MRS. HERIOT _Sister of Lady John_ MISS JEAN DUNBARTON _Niece to Lady John and Mrs. Heriot_ THE HON. GEOFFREY STONOR _Unionist M.P. affianced to Jean Dunbarton_ MR. ST. JOHN GREATOREX _Liberal M.P._ THE HON. RICHARD FARNBOROUGH MR. FREDDY TUNBRIDGE MRS. FREDDY TUNBRIDGE MR. ALLEN TRENT MISS ERNESTINE BLUNT _A Suffragette_ MR. PILCHER _A working man_ A WORKING WOMAN _and_ MISS VIDA LEVERING PERSONS IN THE CROWD: SERVANTS IN THE TWO HOUSES.
## ACT I
WYNNSTAY HOUSE IN HERTFORDSHIRE
## ACT II
TRAFALGAR SQUARE, LONDON
## ACT III
EATON SQUARE
(_Entire Action of Play takes place between Sunday noon and six o'clock in the evening of the same day._)
## ACT I.
THE HALL OF WYNNSTAY HOUSE.
[Illustration: Stage setting.]
_Twelve o'clock Sunday morning at end of June._
_Action takes place between twelve and six same day._
VOTES FOR WOMEN
## ACT I
HALL OF WYNNSTAY HOUSE.
_Twelve o'clock, Sunday morning, end of June. With the rising of the Curtain, enter the_ BUTLER. _As he is going, with majestic port, to answer the door_ L., _enter briskly from the garden, by lower French window_, LADY JOHN WYNNSTAY, _flushed, and flapping a garden hat to fan herself. She is a pink-cheeked woman of fifty-four, who has plainly been a beauty, keeps her complexion, but is "gone to fat."_
LADY JOHN. Has Miss Levering come down yet?
BUTLER (_pausing_ C.). I haven't seen her, m'lady.
LADY JOHN (_almost sharply as_ BUTLER _turns_ L.). I won't have her disturbed if she's resting. (_To herself as she goes to writing-table._) She certainly needs it.
BUTLER. Yes, m'lady.
LADY JOHN (_sitting at writing-table, her back to front door_). But I want her to know the moment she comes down that the new plans arrived by the morning post.
BUTLER (_pausing nearly at the door_). Plans, m'la----
LADY JOHN. She'll understand. There they are. (_Glancing at the clock._) It's very important she should have them in time to look over before she goes----
(BUTLER _opens the door_ L.)
(_Over her shoulder._) Is that Miss Levering?
BUTLER. No, m'lady. Mr. Farnborough.
[_Exit_ BUTLER.
(_Enter the_ HON. R. FARNBOROUGH. _He is twenty-six; reddish hair, high-coloured, sanguine, self-important._)
FARNBOROUGH. I'm afraid I'm scandalously early. It didn't take me nearly as long to motor over as Lord John said.
LADY JOHN (_shaking hands_). I'm afraid my husband is no authority on motoring--and he's not home yet from church.
FARN. It's the greatest luck finding _you_. I thought Miss Levering was the only person under this roof who was ever allowed to observe Sunday as a real Day of Rest.
LADY JOHN. If you've come to see Miss Levering----
FARN. Is she here? I give you my word I didn't know it.
LADY JOHN (_unconvinced_). Oh?
FARN. Does she come every week-end?
LADY JOHN. Whenever we can get her to. But we've only known her a couple of months.
FARN. And I have only known her three weeks! Lady John, I've come to ask you to help me.
LADY JOHN (_quickly_). With Miss Levering? I can't do it!
FARN. No, no--all that's no good. She only laughs.
LADY JOHN (_relieved_). Ah!--she looks upon you as a boy.
FARN (_firing up_). Such rot! What do you think she said to me in London the other day?
LADY JOHN. That she was four years older than you?
FARN. Oh, I knew that. No. She said she knew she was all the charming things I'd been saying, but there was only one way to prove it--and that was to marry some one young enough to be her son. She'd noticed that was what the _most_ attractive women did--and she named names.
LADY JOHN (_laughing_). _You_ were too old!
FARN. (_nods_). Her future husband, she said, was probably just entering Eton.
LADY JOHN. Just like her!
FARN. (_waving the subject away_). No. I wanted to see you about the Secretaryship.
LADY JOHN. You didn't get it, then?
FARN. No. It's the grief of my life.
LADY JOHN. Oh, if you don't get one you'll get another.
FARN. But there _is_ only one.
LADY JOHN. Only one vacancy?
FARN. Only one man I'd give my ears to work for.
LADY JOHN (_smiling_). I remember.
FARN. (_quickly_). Do I always talk about Stonor? Well, it's a habit people have got into.
LADY JOHN. I forget, do you know Mr. Stonor personally, or (_smiling_) are you just dazzled from afar?
FARN. Oh, I know him. The trouble is he doesn't know me. If he did he'd realise he can't be sure of winning his election without my valuable services.
LADY JOHN. Geoffrey Stonor's re-election is always a foregone conclusion.
FARN. That the great man shares that opinion is precisely his weak point. (_Smiling._) His only one.
LADY JOHN. You think because the Liberals swept the country the last time----
FARN. How can we be sure any Conservative seat is safe after----
(_As_ LADY JOHN _smiles and turns to her papers._)
Forgive me, I know you're not interested in politics _qua_ politics. But this concerns Geoffrey Stonor.
LADY JOHN. And you count on my being interested in him like all the rest of my sex.
FARN. (_leans forward_). Lady John, I've heard the news.
LADY JOHN. What news?
FARN. That your little niece--the Scotch heiress--is going to become Mrs. Geoffrey Stonor.
LADY JOHN. Who told you that?
FARN. Please don't mind my knowing.
LADY JOHN (_visibly perturbed_). She had set her heart upon having a few days with just her family in the secret, before the flood of congratulations breaks loose.
FARN. Oh, that's all right. I always hear things before other people.
LADY JOHN. Well, I must ask you to be good enough to be very circumspect. I wouldn't have my niece think that I----
FARN. Oh, of course not.
LADY JOHN. She will be here in an hour.
FARN. (_jumping up delighted_). What? To-day? The future Mrs. Stonor!
LADY JOHN (_harassed_). Yes. Unfortunately we had one or two people already asked for the week-end----
FARN. And I go and invite myself to luncheon! Lady John, you can buy me off. I'll promise to remove myself in five minutes if you'll----
LADY JOHN. No, the penalty is you shall stay and keep the others amused between church and luncheon, and so leave me free. (_Takes up the plan._) Only _remember_----
FARN. Wild horses won't get a hint out of me! I only mentioned it to you because--since we've come back to live in this part of the world you've been so awfully kind--I thought, I hoped maybe you--you'd put in a word for me.
LADY JOHN. With----?
FARN. With your nephew that is to be. Though I'm _not_ the slavish satellite people make out, you can't doubt----
LADY JOHN. Oh, I don't doubt. But you know Mr. Stonor inspires a similar enthusiasm in a good many young----
FARN. They haven't studied the situation as I have. They don't know what's at stake. They don't go to that hole Dutfield as I did just to hear his Friday speech.
LADY JOHN. Ah! But you were rewarded. Jean--my niece--wrote me it was "glorious."
FARN. (_judicially_). Well, you know, _I_ was disappointed. He's too content just to criticise, just to make his delicate pungent fun of the men who are grappling--very inadequately, of course--still _grappling_ with the big questions. There's a carrying power (_gets up and faces an imaginary audience_)--some of Stonor's friends ought to point it out--there's a driving power in the poorest constructive policy that makes the most brilliant criticism look barren.
LADY JOHN (_with good-humoured malice_). Who told you that?
FARN. You think there's nothing in it because _I_ say it. But now that he's coming into the family, Lord John or somebody really ought to point out--Stonor's overdoing his rôle of magnificent security!
LADY JOHN. I don't see even Lord John offering to instruct Mr. Stonor.
FARN. Believe me, that's just Stonor's danger! Nobody saying a word, everybody hoping he's on the point of adopting some definite line, something strong and original that's going to fire the public imagination and bring the Tories back into power.
LADY JOHN. So he will.
FARN. (_hotly_). Not if he disappoints meetings--goes calmly up to town--and leaves the field to the Liberals.
LADY JOHN. When did he do anything like that?
FARN. Yesterday! (_With a harassed air._) And now that he's got this other preoccupation----
LADY JOHN. You mean----
FARN. Yes, your niece--that spoilt child of Fortune. Of course! (_Stopping suddenly._) She kept him from the meeting last night. Well! (_sits down_) if that's the effect she's going to have it's pretty serious!
LADY JOHN (_smiling_). _You_ are!
FARN. I can assure you the election agent's more so. He's simply tearing his hair.
LADY JOHN (_more gravely and coming nearer_). How do you know?
FARN. He told me so himself--yesterday. I scraped acquaintance with the agent just to see if--if----
LADY JOHN. It's not only here that you manoeuvre for that Secretaryship!
FARN. (_confidentially_). You can never tell when your chance might come! That election chap's promised to keep me posted.
(_The door flies open and_ JEAN DUNBARTON _rushes in._)
JEAN. Aunt Ellen--here I----
LADY JOHN (_astonished_). My dear child!
(_They embrace. Enter_ LORD JOHN _from the garden--a benevolent, silver-haired despot of sixty-two._)
LORD JOHN. I thought that was you running up the avenue.
(JEAN _greets her uncle warmly, but all the time she and her aunt talk together. "How did you get here so early?" "I knew you'd be surprised--wasn't it clever of me to manage it? I don't deserve all the credit." "But there isn't any train between----" "Yes, wait till I tell you." "You walked in the broiling sun----" "No, no." "You must be dead. Why didn't you telegraph? I ordered the carriage to meet the 1.10. Didn't you say the 1.10? Yes, I'm sure you did--here's your letter."_)
LORD J. (_has shaken hands with_ FARNBOROUGH _and speaks through the torrent_). Now they'll tell each other for ten minutes that she's an hour earlier than we expected.
(LORD JOHN _leads_ FARNBOROUGH _towards the garden._)
FARN. The Freddy Tunbridges said _they_ were coming to you this week.
LORD J. Yes, they're dawdling through the park with the Church Brigade.
FARN. Oh! (_With a glance back at_ JEAN.) I'll go and meet them.
[_Exit_ FARNBOROUGH.
LORD J. (_as he turns back_). That discreet young man will get on.
LADY JOHN (_to_ JEAN). But _how_ did you get here?
JEAN (_breathless_). "He" motored me down.
LADY JOHN. Geoffrey Stonor? (JEAN _nods_.) Why, where is he, then?
JEAN. He dropped me at the end of the avenue and went on to see a supporter about something.
LORD J. You let him go off like that without----
LADY JOHN (_taking_ JEAN'S _two hands_). Just tell me, my child, is it all right?
JEAN. My engagement? (_Radiantly._) Yes, absolutely.
LADY JOHN. Geoffrey Stonor isn't going to be--a little too old for you?
JEAN (_laughing_). Bless me, am I such a chicken?
LADY JOHN. Twenty-four used not to be so young--but it's become so.
JEAN. Yes, we don't grow up so quick. (_Gaily._) But on the other hand we _stay_ up longer.
LORD J. You've got what's vulgarly called "looks," my dear, and that will help to _keep_ you up!
JEAN (_smiling_). I know what Uncle John's thinking. But I'm not the only girl who's been left "what's vulgarly called" money.
LORD J. You're the only one of our immediate circle who's been left so beautifully much.
JEAN. Ah, but remember Geoffrey could--everybody _knows_ he could have married any one in England.
LADY JOHN (_faintly ironic_). I'm afraid everybody does know it--not excepting Mr. Stonor.
LORD J. Well, how spoilt is the great man?
JEAN. Not the least little bit in the world. You'll see! He so wants to know my best-beloved relations better. (_Another embrace._) An orphan has so few belongings, she has to make the most of them.
LORD J. (_smiling_). Let us hope he'll approve of us on more intimate acquaintance.
JEAN (_firmly_). He will. He's an angel. Why, he gets on with my grandfather!
LADY JOHN. _Does_ he? (_Teasing._) You mean to say Mr. Geoffrey Stonor isn't just a tiny bit--"superior" about Dissenters.
JEAN (_stoutly_). Not half as much as Uncle John and all the rest of you! My grandfather's been ill again, you know, and rather difficult--bless him! (_Radiantly._) But Geoffrey---- (_Clasps her hands._)
LADY JOHN. He must have powers of persuasion!--to get that old Covenanter to let you come in an abhorred motor-car--on Sunday, too!
JEAN (_half whispering_). Grandfather didn't know!
LADY JOHN. Didn't know?
JEAN. I honestly meant to come by train. Geoffrey met me on my way to the station. We had the most glorious run. Oh, Aunt Ellen, we're so happy! (_Embracing her._) I've so looked forward to having you to myself the whole day just to talk to you about----
LORD J. (_turning away with affected displeasure_). Oh, very well----
JEAN (_catches him affectionately by the arm_). _You'd_ find it dreffly dull to hear me talk about Geoffrey the whole blessed day!
LADY JOHN. Well, till luncheon, my dear, you mustn't mind if I---- (_To_ LORD JOHN, _as she goes to writing-table._) Miss Levering wasn't only tired last night, she was ill.
LORD J. I thought she looked very white.
JEAN. Who is Miss---- You don't mean to say there are other people?
LADY JOHN. One or two. Your uncle's responsible for asking that old cynic, St. John Greatorex, and I----
JEAN (_gravely_). Mr. Greatorex--he's a Radical, isn't he?
LORD J. (_laughing_). _Jean!_ Beginning to "think in parties"!
LADY JOHN. It's very natural now that she should----
JEAN. I only meant it was odd he should be here. Naturally at my grandfather's----
LORD J. It's all right, my child. Of course we expect now that you'll begin to think like Geoffrey Stonor, and to feel like Geoffrey Stonor, and to talk like Geoffrey Stonor. And quite proper too.
JEAN (_smiling_). Well, if I do think with my husband and feel with him--as, of course, I shall--it will surprise me if I ever find myself talking a tenth as well----
(_Following her uncle to the French window._)
You should have heard him at Dutfield----(_Stopping short, delighted._) Oh! The Freddy Tunbridges. What? Not Aunt Lydia! Oh-h!
(_Looking back reproachfully at_ LADY JOHN, _who makes a discreet motion "I couldn't help it."_)
(_Enter the_ TUNBRIDGES. MR. FREDDY, _of no profession and of independent means. Well-groomed, pleasant-looking; of few words. A "nice man" who likes "nice women" and has married one of them._ MRS. FREDDY _is thirty. An attractive figure, delicate face, intelligent grey eyes, over-sensitive mouth, and naturally curling dust-coloured hair._)
MRS. FREDDY. What a delightful surprise!
JEAN (_shaking hands warmly_). I'm so glad. How d'ye do, Mr. Freddy?
(_Enter_ LADY JOHN'S _sister_, MRS. HERIOT--_smart, pompous, fifty--followed by_ FARNBOROUGH.)
MRS. HERIOT. My dear Jean! My darling child!
JEAN. How do you do, aunt?
MRS. H. (_sotto voce_). _I_ wasn't surprised. I always prophesied----
JEAN. Sh! _Please!_
FARN. We haven't met since you were in short skirts. I'm Dick Farnborough.
JEAN. Oh, I remember.
(_They shake hands._)
MRS. F. (_looking round_). Not down yet--the Elusive One?
JEAN. Who is the Elusive One?
MRS. F. Lady John's new friend.
LORD J. (_to_ JEAN). Oh, I forgot you hadn't seen Miss Levering; such a nice creature! (_To_ MRS. FREDDY.)--don't you think?
MRS. F. Of course I do. You're lucky to get her to come so often. She won't go to other people.
LADY JOHN. She knows she can rest here.
FREDDY (_who has joined_ LADY JOHN _near the writing-table_). What does she do to tire her?
LADY JOHN. She's been helping my sister and me with a scheme of ours.
MRS. H. She certainly knows how to inveigle money out of the men.
LADY JOHN. It would sound less equivocal, Lydia, if you added that the money is to build baths in our Shelter for Homeless Women.
MRS. F. Homeless women?
LADY JOHN. Yes, in the most insanitary part of Soho.
FREDDY. Oh--a--really.
FARN. It doesn't sound quite in Miss Levering's line!
LADY JOHN. My dear boy, you know as little about what's in a woman's line as most men.
FREDDY (_laughing_). Oh, I say!
LORD J. (_indulgently to_ MR. FREDDY _and_ FARNBOROUGH). Philanthropy in a woman like Miss Levering is a form of restlessness. But she's a _nice_ creature; all she needs is to get some "nice" fella to marry her.
MRS. F. (_laughing as she hangs on her husband's arm_). Yes, a woman needs a balance wheel--if only to keep her from flying back to town on a hot day like this.
LORD J. Who's proposing anything so----
MRS. F. The Elusive One.
LORD J. Not Miss----
MRS. F. Yes, before luncheon!
[_Exit_ FARNBOROUGH _to garden._
LADY JOHN. She must be in London by this afternoon, she says.
LORD J. What for in the name of----
LADY JOHN. Well, _that_ I didn't ask her. But (_consults watch_) I think I'll just go up and see if she's changed her plans.
[_Exit_ LADY JOHN.
LORD J. Oh, she must be _made_ to. Such a nice creature! All she needs----
(_Voices outside. Enter fussily, talking and gesticulating_, ST. JOHN GREATOREX, _followed by_ MISS LEVERING _and_ FARNBOROUGH. GREATOREX _is sixty, wealthy, a county magnate, and Liberal M.P. He is square, thick-set, square-bearded. His shining bald pate has two strands of coal-black hair trained across his crown from left ear to right and securely pasted there. He has small, twinkling eyes and a reputation for telling good stories after dinner when ladies have left the room. He is carrying a little book for_ MISS LEVERING. _She (parasol over shoulder), an attractive, essentially feminine, and rather "smart" woman of thirty-two, with a somewhat foreign grace; the kind of whom men and women alike say, "What's her story? Why doesn't she marry?"_)
GREATOREX. I protest! Good Lord! what are the women of this country coming to? I _protest_ against Miss Levering being carried off to discuss anything so revolting. Bless my soul! what can a woman like you _know_ about it?
MISS LEVERING (_smiling_). Little enough. Good morning.
GREAT. (_relieved_). I should think so indeed!
LORD J. (_aside_). You aren't serious about going----
GREAT. (_waggishly breaking in_). We were so happy out there in the summer-house, weren't we?
MISS L. Ideally.
GREAT. And to be haled out to talk about Public _Sanitation_ forsooth!
(_Hurries after_ MISS LEVERING _as she advances to speak to the_ FREDDYS, _&c._)
Why, God bless my soul, do you realise that's _drains_?
MISS L. I'm dreadfully afraid it is! (_Holds out her hand for the small book_ GREATOREX _is carrying._)
(GREATOREX _returns_ MISS LEVERING'S _book open; he has been keeping the place with his finger. She opens it and shuts her handkerchief in._)
GREAT. And we in the act of discussing Italian literature! Perhaps you'll tell me that isn't a more savoury topic for a lady.
MISS L. But for the tramp population less conducive to savouriness, don't you think, than--baths?
GREAT. No, I can't understand this morbid interest in vagrants. _You're_ much too--leave it to the others.
JEAN. What others?
GREAT. (_with smiling impertinence_). Oh, the sort of woman who smells of indiarubber. The typical English spinster. (_To_ MISS LEVERING.) _You_ know--Italy's full of her. She never goes anywhere without a mackintosh and a collapsible bath--rubber. When you look at her, it's borne in upon you that she doesn't only smell of rubber. _She's_ rubber too.
LORD J. (_laughing_). This is my niece, Miss Jean Dunbarton, Miss Levering.
JEAN. How do you do? (_They shake hands._)
GREAT. (_to_ JEAN). I'm sure _you_ agree with me.
JEAN. About Miss Levering being too----
GREAT. For that sort of thing--_much_ too----
MISS L. What a pity you've exhausted the more eloquent adjectives.
GREAT. But I haven't!
MISS L. Well, you can't say to me as you did to Mrs. Freddy: "You're too young and too happily married--and too----"
(_Glances round smiling at_ MRS. FREDDY, _who, oblivious, is laughing and talking to her husband and_ MRS. HERIOT.)
JEAN. For what was Mrs. Freddy too happily married and all the rest?
MISS L. (_lightly_). Mr. Greatorex was repudiating the horrid rumour that Mrs. Freddy had been speaking in public; about Women's Trade Unions--wasn't that what you said, Mrs. Heriot?
LORD J. (_chuckling_). Yes, it isn't made up as carefully as your aunt's parties usually are. Here we've got Greatorex (_takes his arm_) who hates political women, and we've got in that mild and inoffensive-looking little lady----
(_Motion over his shoulder towards_ MRS. FREDDY.)
GREAT. (_shrinking down stage in comic terror_). You don't mean she's _really_----
JEAN (_simultaneously and gaily rising_). Oh, and you've got me!
LORD J. (_with genial affection_). My dear child, he doesn't hate the charming wives and sweethearts who help to win seats.
(JEAN _makes her uncle a discreet little signal of warning._)
MISS L. Mr. Greatorex objects only to the unsexed creatures who--a----
LORD J. (_hastily to cover up his slip_). Yes, yes, who want to act independently of men.
MISS L. Vote, and do silly things of that sort.
LORD J. (_with enthusiasm_). Exactly.
MRS. H. It will be a long time before we hear any more of _that_ nonsense.
JEAN. You mean that rowdy scene in the House of Commons?
MRS. H. Yes. No decent woman will be able to say "Suffrage" without blushing for another generation, thank Heaven!
MISS L. (_smiling_). Oh? I understood that so little I almost imagined people were more stirred up about it than they'd ever been before.
GREAT. (_with a quizzical affectation of gallantry_). Not people like you.
MISS L. (_teasingly_). How do you know?
GREAT. (_with a start_). God bless my soul!
LORD J. She's saying that only to get a rise out of you.
GREAT. Ah, yes, your frocks aren't serious enough.
MISS L. I'm told it's an exploded notion that the Suffrage women are all dowdy and dull.
GREAT. Don't you believe it!
MISS L. Well, of course we know you've been an authority on the subject for--let's see, how many years is it you've kept the House in roars whenever Woman's Rights are mentioned?
GREAT. (_flattered but not entirely comfortable_). Oh, as long as I've known anything about politics there have been a few discontented old maids and hungry widows----
MISS L. "A few!" That's really rather forbearing of you, Mr. Greatorex. I'm afraid the number of the discontented and the hungry was 96,000--among the mill operatives alone. (_Hastily._) At least the papers said so, didn't they?