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     a play in six scenes

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 Copyright © 1996 by Author
 Email: PnNBr@aol.com
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     CHRIS, 29, a dramatist.

     JOANNE COLERIDGE, DUCHESS OF MULBERRY, 40.

     BETSY COLERIDGE, 17, her daughter.

     LIONEL COLLINS, 26, an actor.

     WILLIAM, 29, a dramatist.

     ANNE, 38, William's wife.

     THE MAN IN BLACK.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK.

     JULIAN, 35, a theatre manager.

     ANDRИ DE MAISSE, 40, Henri IV's ambassador.



     Scene  One.  Nothing and  no one on the  stage. Twilight.  Stage-right,
enter  Chris running  - a  handsome  young man, dark, slender, tall, wearing
dark clothes. He stops  dead center, looks  back frantically.  He  wipes his
forehead. His hand reaches reluctantly for the long sword at his hip. With a
sudden  surge  of resolution,  he  tears  the  sword out  of the  sheath and
retraces his steps slowly. Before he can reach the exit, a Man In Black In A
Mask enters stage-left and calls out softly.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Christopher.

     Chris swings rapidly around, pointing his sword at the stranger.

     Please calm down. There is no danger at this point.

     A pause.

     CHRIS
     No?

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     No.

     CHRIS
     Swear to me that you're not just mocking me.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Please sheathe your sword and stop talking nonsense.

     After some hesitation, Chris sheathes his sword,  goes to stage-center,
stops.

     People do go astray once in a while. It's human nature, you know.

     Stage-left, enter the Woman In Black, wearing a mask, soundlessly.

     CHRIS
     I haven't gone astray. I simply want out.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     That, my dear fellow, is quite impossible, I'm afraid. The Service does
not  recruit people and  teach them  skills only to let them leave  whenever
they please and use what they've learned to their advantage.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Loyalty doesn't seem to be one of your strong points, sir.

     Chris turns around rapidly.

     CHRIS
     Huh?!

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     You knew what you were getting into.
     (a pause; in a less severe tone)
     What is  it  you  lack,  anyway?  You have  money.  You  have excellent
lodgings.  You've become somewhat famous recently  in certain circles.  Your
poetry has  won you the admiration of some connoisseurs. What  more  can you
possibly want?

     CHRIS
     I.... I don't know. Peace. Time to write.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     (almost disdainfully)
     Why stop there? Family. Say it. You want to have a family.

     CHRIS
     Not particularly, no.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     At the time of your initiation,  you  were asked certain questions. You
were supposed to answer them truthfully. Did you?

     CHRIS
     To the best of my knowledge, yes.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     One of the questions was  about affections. You  said  you  didn't love
anyone, that you weren't particularly engaged anywhere. Is that true still?

     CHRIS
     Er....

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Is it?

     CHRIS
     Yes.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Are you sure? There are secrets and then there are secrets. The secrets
you've been entrusted with belong to the Service.

     CHRIS
     I've never betrayed anyone's trust, and God alone....

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     God? Since when have you been religious, Christopher?

     CHRIS
     I?

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Yes, you.

     CHRIS
     I've always.... more or less....

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Those who are in the Service belong to no one except the Queen. Did you
lie to us, Chris?
     (a pause)
     It's hopeless. He's not willing to give up anything.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Pardon  me, Robert.  I think we should  give him another  chance.  He's
rendered us quite a few services.
     (at Chris)
     It was through  him that the  two most dangerous conspiracies,  one  of
them Babington's, were discovered, two revolts nipped in the bud.

     A pause.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     (at Chris)
     Yes. Poor Anthony, cut off in the twenty-sixth year of his stormy life.
Poor Mary. The Scots miss her.
     (a pause)
     But I'm warning you, Christopher. This is really your  last chance. The
next  time you try  to shield someone,  or  simply  to  conceal from  us the
results   of  your  inquiries,  we'll   renounce  you  altogether.  Is  that
understood?

     A pause.

     CHRIS
     Yes.

     A pause.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     (kindly)
     Now, here's something we'd like you to do. You seem to  be  on friendly
terms with the Earl of Warwick. Correct?

     CHRIS
     Yes.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     He  happens to admire  your poetry. I believe he once  even  financed a
publication or two, just to get you started.

     CHRIS
     Yes.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Old Warwick is conspiring against  the throne. At least that's what the
information you've provided seems to suggest.

     CHRIS
     Er.... No. I never.... He's not.... he's not connected with any plot.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     But he is, Chris. The most  dangerous plot the Service ever dealt with.
We wouldn't want  to eliminate him at this point. It's too early. We want to
watch his every step,  though. He  might become suspicious. He might try and
make  his escape. What  we'd like you  to do is go  to him  and do your best
assuring him that he'll be perfectly safe for a while.

     A pause.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     You are not answering, sir.

     CHRIS
     What do you want me to say?

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Is the assignment clear to you?

     CHRIS
     Yes.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Are you going to do it?

     A pause.

     CHRIS
     Yes.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Good.
     (a pause)
     Remember, this is your last chance, Christopher. For a Service man, the
only place of retirement is the grave.

     The Man  In Black crosses the stage, passing Chris and  slapping him on
the shoulder. The Man In Black joins the Woman In  Black  and they are gone,
stage-right. Chris is staring in front of himself, facing the audience.

     Stage-left,  enter De Maisse - a handsome, if  somewhat  affected,  man
clad in bright colors, with a long sword at his hip. He has a French accent.

     DE MAISSE
     Pardon me, Monsieur. Is that structure called.... er....
     (produces a notebook and consults it)
     ....the London Bridge?
     (a pause)
     Monsieur?
     (Chris remains motionless)
     Hm. A deaf Englishman. Well, well.

     He goes off towards  the backdrop  and looks intently in all directions
consulting  his  notebook  from  time  to  time.  He  continues  doing  this
throughout Chris' scene with Anne.

     Stage-left, enter Anne. She approaches Chris tentatively.

     ANNE
     Excuse  me, sir.  Do you happen to  know  where Lord Chamberlain's  Men
lodge these days?

     A pause. Slowly, Chris turns to her.

     CHRIS
     Eh?

     ANNE
     Lord Chamberlain's Men....

     CHRIS
     (darkly)
     I remember you.
     (a pause)
     Now,  let  me  see.  Something  trivial.  Elizabeth?  Nah.  Mary  Jane?
Something  like  that.... Something  mind-bogglingly  trivial. Anne!  You're
Anne, aren't you? Wobbly's wife?

     ANNE
     That's my name, sir, but....

     He clenches  his  teeth and with a tremendous effort composes  himself,
becoming at once gentler and merrier.

     CHRIS
     Of   course.   Lord  Chamberlain's   -  the  lousiest,   dirties,  most
disreputable bunch of former  choir boys and  second-rate merchants  calling
themselves actors.  And you've just  arrived here to  see  one of them, poor
creature! You  do have  the misfortune of being his lawful bride, and I both
pity you and commend you on it. I pity you because your position is piteous,
and  I commend you because I'm generally in the  habit of commending  anyone
doing anything the least bit  original. Marrying a person  of Wobbly's stamp
was a most original  move on  your part. At least  one of you must have been
drunk  at  the time. Kids okay? And Wobbly's dear old  father, the  decorous
Philistine, is he still  the same as his son-in-law once described him to me
after  a particularly grim  night we  spent  over  a jug of brackish beer? A
stingy, cross, witless monster?

     ANNE
     I'm  sorry, sir, this is a little bit overwhelming.... You seem to know
my husband?

     CHRIS
     Know him, Madam? Not true. Only  your husband knows your  husband, from
which it follows that I, not being your  husband, know exactly nothing about
the  man in question. He's  somewhat  talented, rather silly, very  nasty at
times, and a bad actor. Anything beyond that is anybody's guess.

     ANNE
     A bad actor?

     CHRIS
     Atrocious.

     ANNE
     Well, sir, on my part, I think he's rather good.

     CHRIS
     Oh, yes - in Greek and Roman tragedy, perhaps, where you're supposed to
wail and windmill your arms like a madman. But one couldn't find a surer way
to ruin a modern piece than to cast  your husband for  it. He's  fit to be a
bit player, perhaps, or a stage hand.

     ANNE
     (with some hostility)
     And what may your name be, may I ask?

     CHRIS
     Oh.  My name. Yes, of course. You don't want to  know. I'm one of those
dubious fellows who can learn anyone's name without revealing his own. We're
the faithful servants of the Great Bitch, my dear Anne, and you'd better not
meddle in my affairs.
     (to the audience, sonorously)
     Is  there  anyone  here who wishes to  say  anything  against the Great
Bitch? Huh? Would you like  to conspire against her, perhaps? I  dare you, I
defy you to say one word! I'm here to make sure that the Wonder Lady is safe
and sound! Understand?

     ANNE
     I'm sorry. I'd better go.

     CHRIS
     Oh, yes. My regards to Wobbly.

     ANNE
     Who's Wobbly?

     CHRIS
     One  of those  hapless rascals  whom posterity will  never  forgive for
marrying a woman without a sense of humor.

     Suddenly, Anne laughs. Chris frowns at her.

     ANNE
     I  think I  know  who you are. You wrote that piece - what's it called?
Something about a German doctor who sold his soul?

     Chris raises his eyebrows, goggles at her. She smiles triumphantly.

     CHRIS
     You've read it?

     ANNE
     Yes.

     CHRIS
     Did you like it?

     ANNE
     Not much. But it shows a lot of promise. You should work on  your verse
more. It's still very rough around the edges.

     CHRIS
     May I walk you to Wobbly's place?

     ANNE
     No, thank you.

     CHRIS
     This is a dangerous city. You never know whom you may encounter on your
way to your husband's dwellings.

     ANNE
     Indeed.

     CHRIS
     So, why don't you let me....

     ANNE
     I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself, thank you.

     CHRIS
     Are you sure?

     Anne laughs.

     ANNE
     Quite sure, thank you.

     Anne  walks,  shaking   his  head   and  laughing,  towards   the  exit
stage-right.

     Chris waits for her to exit. He shrugs.

     De Maisse closes his notebook, turns, and approaches Chris.

     DE MAISSE
     Pardon me, Monsieur.  Your conversation with the  lady  who  just  left
gives  me grounds  to  suppose  that  you  are not deaf  after  all. I am  a
Frenchman, as you've probably been able to gather from my accent. This is my
first time in this  city. Please, could you tell me where the Queen's palace
is?

     Chris smiles.

     CHRIS
     The  Queen  does  not  reside  in the city,  Monsieur. She  prefers the
outskirts.

     DE MAISSE
     Oh,  I see. Thank you  very  much. May I also mention without offending
you that I find you rather attractive? No? Well, just a thought.

     He goes off to the backdrop and resumes sightseeing.

     CHRIS
     Wobbly  knows how to select a woman. Impeccable taste.  If only I had a
wife like that! Well, Chris old man. What are we going to do now? What do we
tell old Warwick?
     (thinks, twitches his nose)
     Well,  there  is no such  thing as chivalry, I suppose.  There are only
degrees of being a pig.

     Off-stage, a woman laughs melodiously and drunkenly. A male  voice says
brightly, "All right, I'll see you later, then." On his way out, stage-left,
Chris  bumps  into  Lionel, -  a  stunningly  handsome man, with the velvety
well-controlled high baritone of a stage professional whose forte is playing
young powerful kings. He is handsomely and artistically drunk.

     LIONEL
     Ah, Chris! How you doing, old man!

     He sways and falls into Chris's arms.

     CHRIS
     Lionel, please. I have to run.

     LIONEL
     (disengaging)
     That's all  right. Let me just sit here for a while. I'll be fine. Hey,
Chris, you look wonderful. Very pale and all. A true artist!

     CHRIS
     Are you sure you're going to be all right? Don't you have a performance
tonight?

     LIONEL
     What, in  your lousy  play? Nah. I hate that play. Hey, Chris. You're a
lousy writer; did you know that?

     CHRIS
     Why, thank you. You're a hopeless actor.

     LIONEL
     Hey, Chris, I feel so good....  Fucking Joanne  will roast me alive for
this.

     CHRIS
     I hope she does.
     (turns to go; stops)
     Hey, and, Lionel?

     LIONEL
     Yes?

     CHRIS
     Keep your hands off Betsy, all right?

     LIONEL
     Why?

     CHRIS
     Someone might cut them off for you one day, that's why.

     Lionel  sits down  against  the backdrop,  laughs. Chris shrugs,  exits
stage-left.

     LIONEL
     Come near me, nymph, that I might plant a kiss
     Upon your gentle instep; join me in
     The feast of youth....
     Or  something. Who wrote that? I'm not sure. I feel  so good. I.... I'm
the greatest actor in the world! Everybody says so.

     He lowers his head and falls silent.

     Stage-right, enter the Man In Black and the Woman In Black.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Now, where is he? You see, I told you.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     He must have stopped for a drink someplace.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     His instructions were to go directly to Warwick's.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Don't be so hard on him.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     He's impulsive, shrewd,  and completely unreliable.  And  then  there's
that other fellow, his friend.  Also a  playwright of  sorts.  Warwick might
escape while we're dallying with all these reprobates!

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     However, dear  Robert, it seems  to me that your hatred  for your uncle
takes priority over even your sense of duty.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     My uncle!  The one  who conspires against the throne!  The one  who has
deprived me of my property, taken away my income, and  married my  bride!...
We must do away with  Chris. It may be wise to get  rid of his friend  too -
Chris  may  have  conferred some  secrets to him. In our business,  one must
never take any chances.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     His  friend is perfectly  innocent. He's  just a poet,  amusing himself
with playwriting and making a living by acting in vulgar plays.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Whence this explicit data, may I ask?

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     (ironically)
     Do you imagine you're my only source of information?
     (a pause; seriously)
     His plays are  rather good; his poetry is excellent. I almost feel like
helping him. You know, he's much better  than all  that  trash they stage at
the playhouses these days.

     A pause.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     I don't  understand. Playhouses?  Are they  supposed to be  amusing  or
something?

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Perhaps  if  his works were performed  at a better place, he'd  stand a
better chance.... Lord Chamberlain's Men have the  worst playhouse in all of
Christendom.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     (it dawns on him)
     Chris! Of course! He must have slipped you some manuscripts to  promote
his bosom friend....

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Yes, and they were quite good. Not to mention that they told me a great
deal about their author's attitude in regard to  those  who run this country
today. Loyalty is hard to come by these days, Robert. I think I'll see to it
that he gets a better theatre.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Need I remind you, Madam, that the  Warwick  plot is a very real thing.
The  safety  of the  throne  is at stake. In my opinion, theatres  and  such
should be removed altogether from our agenda.

     LIONEL
     Grrrrrrr!

     The  Man In Black clutches his  sword. The  Woman In Black stops him by
touching him on the elbow. De Maisse turns around.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Drunken swine!

     LIONEL
     Drunken swine yourself.

     The Man In Black rolls his eyes. The Woman In Black laughs.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Looks like it's Lionel.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     (to the Woman In Black)
     Please excuse me, Madam. I must speak to him.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Sure. Go ahead.

     She smiles. He approaches Lionel and says quietly,

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Lionel. What are you doing here?

     LIONEL
     Oh, just chilling, man. Just hanging out.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Did you see Chris?

     LIONEL
     Yes. He was on his way to your uncle's place.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     You're not making this up, are you?

     LIONEL
     That's what I  don't like about the spying business. Always suspicious.
Never trust anyone. Oops, what's this?

     He produces a scroll from  under his cloak  and  hands it to the Man In
Black. The latter opens and reads it. His face brightens.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Thank you, Lionel.

     LIONEL
     The man's name  is Kyd. He's a  playwright of sorts, too. Why don't you
call on him and see what he says.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Kyd, eh?

     He nods. He returns to the Woman In black, speaks to her quietly.

     There's  news, Madam. Old Warwick has been  in touch  with  the King of
France. Here.  We  can't afford  to wait  any  longer. We  must send someone
immediately to his house; not Chris, but a man of action.

     He hands her  the scroll. She reads it briefly, nods. The two  of them,
with an air of determination, exit hastily stage-right.

     Lionel rises slowly. He is completely sober.

     LIONEL
     A better theatre, eh?

     He thinks. Stage-right, enter Betsy.

     Betsy  is a plain-looking  blond creature, thin, with small  breasts, a
high but even voice. She is very  much a  teenager, and  awkward. Yet, there
are redeeming qualities in her. While trying  to persuade herself and others
that  she  is  beautiful in a singular, ineffable way, she can  really be so
each  time she is  preoccupied with something other  than  her looks and the
reaction they produce.

     She attempts to  cross the stage and exit stage-left without looking at
Lionel. He smiles.

     Hey, Betsy darling!

     BETSY
     (stops; without looking at him)
     Please don't speak to me. You know I don't like you.

     LIONEL
     Mommy at home?

     BETSY
     Yes, she is.

     LIONEL
     Could you tell her I'll be over soon?

     BETSY
     No.

     LIONEL
     Are you jealous?

     BETSY
     (indignantly)
     I said, don't speak to me!
     (a pause)
     What have I done to deserve this?  Why do I  have to  bump into  you no
matter where I go?

     LIONEL
     You like me. Admit it.

     BETSY
     I  hate  your  guts.  You're the  most treacherous,  vicious, obnoxious
person I've ever seen.

     LIONEL
     I'll tell Chris  you were talking to  a stranger near  the  Bridge. You
looked at him as  though you  worshipped  him. He's not  very  good looking,
though. A minor author of sorts, I suppose. May I kiss you?

     BETSY
     No!

     He jumps at her. She jumps back. He chases her all over the stage. They
exit running stage-left.

     DE MAISSE
     How  very  amusing.  Plots, playhouses,  and  love affairs.  London  is
everything they told me it was, and more.

     Blackout.

     Scene Two.  At rise, a room in  a  Bankside house. A table, a number of
chairs, a window. On the table, a large pile of manuscripts.

     Joanne  -  youthful, energetic, vital,  is sitting on  the edge  of the
table. She is vaguely attractive, somewhat overweight, reddish blond. Lionel
is standing beside her, his head lowered.

     JOANNE
     Really,  Lionel,  this  is  the  limit.  Your  behavior  has been quite
unseemly these  past six months.  You forget who I am.  I am the  Duchess of
Mulberry. The  fact that I allow you to  call me Joanne when we  are  in bed
does not mean  that we are equals. Could you at least show me some gratitude
once in a  while? I've made you a famous actor. For you  sake alone, I'm now
running a theatre company which is  operating at a  loss.  Do you absolutely
have to sleep with every seamstress you meet in the street? Is it positively
beyond your power to skip a few?

     LIONEL
     She isn't a seamstress.

     JOANNE
     I'm not discussing her profession right now.

     She jumps off the table, paces.

     What do I do with you, Lionel?  Why do you  have  to humiliate me  like
this? You're a  great actor and a very handsome man; you also happen to be a
good lover. A little loyalty would make you almost human.

     LIONEL
     May I go now?

     JOANNE
     Go where?

     LIONEL
     Oh, I don't know. Here and there. To the inn.

     JOANNE
     And what are you going to do at the inn?

     LIONEL
     At the inn?

     JOANNE
     Yes. What are you going to do there?

     LIONEL
     I don't know. Stuff people  usually do at an inn. Drink some beer. Play
a game or two.

     JOANNE
     There's plenty of beer here, and we could play any game you like.

     LIONEL
     Well,  you know what I mean. I've been working very hard lately, I have
to  relax a little bit once  in a  while. You know  that, Duchess. I  have a
performance tonight.

     JOANNE
     Yes, of course.

     LIONEL
     Will you come?

     JOANNE
     Of course. I  always go  to your performances. Fool  that I  am, I just
can't resist your talent. When you're performing, you have no equals. You're
going to ruin me one of these days.

     LIONEL
     Your husband has enough money to by half of London.

     JOANNE
     You leave the Duke out of this, do you hear? Insolent wretch!

     Lionel smiles and turns away from her.

     JOANNE
     Why are you smiling? What's so funny?
     (a pause)
     Do  you think  you're the only one in  the world? That I couldn't get a
different lover if I wished? Huh?

     LIONEL
     (suppressing a laugh)
     I didn't say that.

     JOANNE
     Oh, you're so cocky. Well, for your information, some men still  take a
vivid interest in me.

     LIONEL
     Good for you.

     JOANNE
     You don't believe me, do you?

     He shrugs and turns away from her.

     Oh, yeah? The Earl of Warwick is madly in love with me.

     He turns to her and smiles skeptically.

     You don't believe me? Then read this.

     She reaches into her bodice and produces a tiny scroll. She hands it to
him. He takes it, opens it, and scans it.

     Aloud, if you don't mind. With your  skills,  you should  be able to do
that sonnet justice.

     LIONEL
     Old Warwick himself wrote this?

     She sniffs indignantly.

     Didn't know he was a poet.

     JOANNE
     Love can inspire anyone to become a poet.

     Lionel strikes a pose and reads the sonnet with professional clarity.

     LIONEL
     A thousand chances I would gladly miss
     Glory to gain but for thy love alone,
     For the opportunity to plant a kiss
     Upon thy opalescent collar bone.
     So haughty, yet so exquisitely kind,
     And so majestic, yet so feminine,
     Thy charms are such that one must be quite blind
     Not to give in at once. Alas, my sin
     Was to allow pretties to have their turn
     And let my passion in their sham warmth bask;
     For not until I met thee did I learn
     The startling truth that youth is but a mask;
     Like in a painting once for decades sealed,
     Only by age is true beauty revealed.

     JOANNE
     (triumphantly)
     So there! Do you see now what an ungrateful little shit you are?

     LIONEL
     And it was Warwick himself who wrote this, right?

     JOANNE
     Why, certainly!

     LIONEL
     And he dedicated it to you.

     JOANNE
     Yes.

     He returns the scroll to her. He is suddenly pensive. A pause.

     LIONEL
     (absentmindedly)
     Look, there's a rat.

     JOANNE
     (panicking)
     Where? Ah!

     She jumps, runs around, and finally hangs  from Lionel's neck,  lifting
her feet off the floor.

     Oh, I can't stand rats! Lionel! Do something!

     He laughs, sits her on the table, spreads his arms wide and roars.

     LIONEL
     There. It's gone.

     JOANNE
     Stupid brute!  This city is  so full of them. Oh, Lionel, they frighten
me so.

     He laughs, goes up to her.

     LIONEL
     It's all right. It's gone. See?

     JOANNE
     Let  me catch my breath. Goodness  gracious. You don't think it'll come
back, do you?....

     He shrugs, chuckles.

     All right, go now.

     He makes for the door stage-right.

     Lionel.

     LIONEL
     What? Oh.

     He returns,  kisses her very  gently on the lips. She returns the kiss.
For a  while, they  continue  kissing.  He runs his hand through  her  hair,
kisses  her neck. She closes  her  eyes. He takes her hand in his and kisses
her wrist. There is a  knock  on  the door.  They disengage.  Joanne quickly
straightens her dress and touches her hair.

     I'm off.

     He  quickly  presses her to his  chest,  kisses her on the lips, breaks
away, runs and exits stage-right.

     JOANNE
     Ahem.... Come in.

     Stage-left, enter Julian - a full-bodied,  happy man who knows  how  to
enjoy a good meal. Just now, however, he is rather morose.

     JULIAN
     My Lady. We have a problem.

     JOANNE
     Sit down, Julian. No, not in that chair -  you'll break  it.  This one.
Thank you. Well?

     JULIAN
     Madam, as your theatre manager, I....

     JOANNE
     Would you like a drink?

     JULIAN
     Er.... No, thank you.... Well, in fact.... I could use a beer.

     He  pours himself a mugful.  He drinks  and  grunts appreciatively.  He
takes out his hanky and wipes his brow.

     Yes. Well. A messenger from Her Majesty came calling this morning.

     JOANNE
     Go on.

     JULIAN
     The players have been invited to perform at Court a month from now.

     JOANNE
     Excellent. So, where's the problem?

     JULIAN
     There's nothing to perform.

     JOANNE
     What do you mean?

     JULIAN
     You know. I'm not much of an expert in these matters. Were it up to me,
I'd just sell it or close it. The company is operating at a huge loss.

     JOANNE
     That's none of your business, Julian. Please continue.

     JULIAN
     Well, Duchess,  I'd rather  run your farms for you  again. This theatre
stuff.... Well, all right. Her Majesty wishes to see a new play. So, all the
Romans and Greeks are out.

     JOANNE
     We perform modern plays as well.

     JULIAN
     Not too many.

     JOANNE
     Tamburlaine The Great?

     JULIAN
     Oh, come on, Lady Mulberry! The company's been playing that piece three
years  straight.  Everyone  at  Court  knows  it  by  heart.  The  courtiers
themselves could perform it if you asked them.

     JOANNE
     But we could give it a new interpretation.

     Julian  shrugs,  sips  beer.  Joanne sits,  goes through  the stack  of
manuscripts on the table.

     There's nothing out there at the moment,  really. I've been praying for
a new playwright to come along who could give Lionel an opportunity to shine
in a new role.  But you know how playwrights are. They're either too  stupid
or too stubborn. They think  too highly of themselves, pretending to  be men
of letters.

     JULIAN
     So where's the solution?

     JOANNE
     We'll have to go with Tamburlaine this time.

     JULIAN
     May I be frank with you, Duchess?

     JOANNE
     Please do, Julian.

     JULIAN
     There are nine playhouses  in  this city. Only three of them, including
ours, can perform  in winter, being as they are indoor establishments.  Only
one  of  these hosts a  company called Her Majesty's Men. Ours  is  the only
theatre that  gets tax breaks. We have the  best actors.  The best costumes.
The best equipment. And yet, ours is the only one  operating at a loss. Year
after year, you have to....

     JOANNE
     We stand for quality.

     JULIAN
     Oh, quality  be damned! Pardon me, Madam. What you really want is a few
comedies, a few  genuine English-spirited side-splitting laugh machines that
will get us fans and revenue. Punch and Judy stuff.

     JOANNE
     Comedy,  my  dear  Julian,  can  be, contrary to  popular  beliefs,  an
elevated art form. Only Romans could do  it  justice. An  Englishman  cannot
write  a   comedy  without  slipping  into   slapstick  humor,  preposterous
situations,  vulgar  gestures, and so on.  I  wouldn't want Lionel to make a
fool of himself out  there. It's bad enough that his profession is despised.
The last time the Earl of Warwick visited our theatre....

     JULIAN
     Duchess.

     JOANNE
     Yes?

     JULIAN
     Please, not so loud.

     JOANNE
     Not so loud? Why, what did I....

     JULIAN
     The name you just mentioned.

     JOANNE
     Oh?
     (quietly)
     You mean?...

     JULIAN
     Yes. He's  been found guilty of something  or other, I think. There are
rumors....

     JOANNE
     Really? Oh, my. Who could  have thought!... He, of all people. If there
was a perfectly loyal gentlemen in the whole kingdom....

     JULIAN
     Please, Madam.

     There is a knock on the door.

     JOANNE
     (without turning away from him)
     Come in!

     Stage-left, enter William - medium height, thin, somewhat awkward, hair
dark, eyes blue. If he wore  a beard, it would be reddish. His voice  is  an
unconvincing high baritone. He has a manuscript under his arm.

     WILLIAM
     Oh, hello.... I'm sorry.

     JOANNE
     Oh, it's you. Let me find your play for you.

     She  goes through the pile  of manuscripts. William stands awkwardly in
the middle of the stage. Julian sips beer and regards William amiably.

     JULIAN
     A young aspiring author, I presume?

     WILLIAM
     Er, yes.

     JULIAN
     Well, well. Tough out there, isn't it?

     WILLIAM
     Yes.

     Julian rises and walks over to  William,  places his hand  on the other
man's shoulder.

     JULIAN
     Just keep doing it. Just don't ever give up.

     WILLIAM
     I.... have.... a family to support.

     JULIAN
     Yes,  I  understand.  It's  very  tough  out  there.  But, with  enough
patience, you'll  get there, if you have it in you, that is. There's so much
competition out there these days. Everyone writes plays, but  there are only
so many theatres, you know. But, if I were you, I wouldn't despair. You have
to believe in yourself.

     JOANNE
     Ah, here it is.

     She hands William the  manuscript. William  accepts  it  but drops  the
other one in the process. Pages scatter about  the stage.  He stoops to pick
them up,  placing  the  returned manuscript  on  the floor.  He  gathers the
scattered pages hastily, briefly glancing at the text,  making certain  they
are  in right order.  Presently,  he gives  this up, embarrassed, and starts
lumping them together anyhow.

     WILLIAM
     You've read it, then, Madam?

     JOANNE
     Yes.

     WILLIAM
     Did you....
     (stops gathering the pages, looks up at her)
     ....like it?
     (a pause; tentatively)
     Even a little bit?

     JOANNE
     It was interesting to read.  I'm afraid we won't be able to produce  it
here.
     (a pause)
     To be honest, I found  it fairly confusing, and.... if it's meant to be
a combination of farce and  satirical historical drama, then....  I'm afraid
it fails on both accounts.
     (a pause)
     I don't know. As  a study of  decadence  and the  morality of the rich,
there is very little of substance to get hold of.  You know what I mean. The
structure, for instance, is  inevitably faulty, simply because the themes of
power  and money  are  -  how  should I put it? -  meandered  around  rather
than.... rather  than fully developed and  explored. You  see, if your piece
were to be more succinct, then the  writing might be  allowed to  focus more
on....  on  character and plot, which  would help us find the  heart  of the
drama. As it is, I found it very difficult to.... to find.... in the current
draft.

     A long pause. William resumes gathering the pages.

     You could try other theatres.

     WILLIAM
     Yes, but.... er....

     JOANNE
     At any rate, I wish you luck.

     WILLIAM
     May I.... offer you another play?

     JOANNE
     Another one?

     WILLIAM
     Er.... yes. Another one.

     JOANNE
     (shrugs)
     If you like.

     He picks it up  from the floor and hands it  to her. She places it next
to the pile on the table.

     JOANNE
     I must warn you, though, that  it'll be some time before  I get  to it.
We're so busy here.

     WILLIAM
     Yeah?... All right.... I'm  sorry. I didn't mean to take  up so much of
your time. Er.... Good day, then, Madam. My lord, your servant.

     He turns, stumbles, walks to the left, bumps into Betsy on his way out.

     Oh, I'm very sorry. I seem to be despicably clumsy today.

     BETSY
     (staring at him)
     It's all right.

     WILLIAM
     Well, if you'd excuse me now.

     He squeezes by her and exits. She stares after him.

     JULIAN
     Funny fellow.

     JOANNE
     Yes.... So, do we still have a problem? Sit down, Betsy, don't stand by
the window, you'll catch pneumonia.

     JULIAN
     Excellent beer! There's nothing  like a good sip  of  beer from time to
time. Cheers you up, it does.

     JOANNE
     Talk to me, Julian.

     JULIAN
     Well,  yes, the  problem's still  there. We wouldn't want  to  bore Her
Majesty, would we?

     JOANNE
     So what do you propose?

     JULIAN
     I  don't  know. You're the doctor, I guess. I beg your pardon, Duchess.
Well, actually, why not give that guy a chance?

     JOANNE
     What guy?

     JULIAN
     The one who was here just now. Seems like a good sort.

     JOANNE
     Are you going to tell  Her Majesty that? That he's a good sort?  Surely
that will make everything quite all right.

     JULIAN
     Why, what's wrong with him?

     JOANNE
     He can't write, that's what's wrong.  He doesn't  know  the first thing
about theatre. And his verse is simply awful. You know?

     JULIAN
     Well, does it scan, at least?

     JOANNE
     Scan? What.... What do you mean by scan?

     JULIAN
     Well. I'm not sure. I've heard the term used a  few times.  Seems  that
good verse is supposed to scan.

     JOANNE
     I don't  know. I  don't remember hearing it. Anyway, what he thinks  is
blank verse is really street talk. I remember now - that other piece of his.
Sounded like common people talking.

     JULIAN
     What's wrong with that?

     JOANNE
     Well, if one  wanted to hear common people talk, one could just as well
go out in the street and listen to them.  There's no admission  fee. And his
story is so  complicated, no one would be able to follow it. We can't afford
people leaving in the middle of a performance.

     A pause. She opens at random the manuscript William  left with her  and
browses it, turning pages fiercely.

     JULIAN
     Well, I suppose  you're right. Although we  haven't had a full house in
years....

     JOANNE
     (browsing)
     Same thing. He's just no good. Here, read this passage.

     JULIAN
     Well, you know, Madam, I'm not much of a  reader. Can't read very well,
in fact. Reading is not my thing, I guess.

     JOANNE
     Oh. Well. Now, Betsy....

     BETSY
     Hi, Mom.

     JOANNE
     Julian,  you'll  have  to  excuse  us.  Something  important  must have
happened. She never visits me here during the day.

     JULIAN
     About the play, then?

     JOANNE
     Drop by later, we'll talk some more.

     Julian hesitates, then rises and shuffles out.

     BETSY
     Is he upset?

     JOANNE
     Yes, as usual. A very fussy person. What's up?

     She looks through the manuscripts on the table.

     BETSY
     I'm pregnant.

     JOANNE
     What!

     BETSY
     Just checking. You're paying attention. Good.

     JOANNE
     Don't ever scare me like that!

     BETSY
     Give me some money. I want to go to the fair.

     JOANNE
     What are you going to do there?

     BETSY
     Where, at the fair?

     JOANNE
     Yes. What are you going to do there?

     BETSY
     Well,  I  don't  know.  Look around. Have  some  fun. Take my mind  off
things. I really miss going to the fair. Father used to take me to  the fair
a lot  when I  was a kid. He doesn't seem to like me  anymore. My  views are
much too advanced for him, I suppose.

     JOANNE
     You're  a grown-up  now,  Betsy.  Fairs  are boring. Besides,  now that
you're a lady, it wouldn't befit you to mingle with commoners as much as you
used to.

     BETSY
     Speaking of commoners, I'd like to join a theatre company.

     JOANNE
     Will you please be serious?

     BETSY
     I am serious.

     A pause. Joanne rises, walks over, strokes Betsy's hair gently.

     JOANNE
     What is it? A tooth ache? When's your period due? Why are you so moody?

     BETSY
     Mom - will you please listen?

     JOANNE
     Yes. Tell me.

     BETSY
     Read my coral lips. I. Want. To. Join. A. Theatre. Company. Got it now?

     A pause.

     JOANNE
     You're mad.

     BETSY
     There's no cure for that. Anything else?

     JOANNE
     My own daughter.

     BETSY
     I can always change  my  name if it's  our  family's  reputation you're
concerned about; don't worry, I'm not as inconsiderate as you seem to think.

     JOANNE
     But you're a girl.

     BETSY
     Yes, I already know that. I'm  also clever and  rather attractive,  and
some men devour me with their eyes when I  pass them in the street. Anything
else?

     JOANNE
     Girls don't belong in the theatre.
     (a pause)
     Oh! I see now. Have you been seeing him?

     BETSY
     I....

     JOANNE
     I thought I had positively forbidden you ever to see that man.
     (a pause)
     Well? Aren't you going to answer?

     BETSY
     I don't understand.

     A pause.

     JOANNE
     Betsy,  please  get a grip. I've been  putting  up with  your whims for
centuries. But  even  my angelic  patience has  its limits. I'm  not exactly
restricting your freedom or anything like that. I'm not old-fashioned. If it
weren't for  me, you'd be married to  a certain man named Robert. The nephew
of.... never  mind. I persuaded your father to refuse him. I made him invent
the most ridiculous excuse. I knew you wouldn't  be happy with that man. But
proprieties  must be  observed. Our  family will  not  be talked  about, you
understand?

     BETSY
     The whole city knows about you and Lionel, Mom.

     Joanne slaps her across the face.

     JOANNE
     (through her teeth)
     They  may know about him, but at least they're not laughing. What  they
know they keep to themselves. You'd do well to imitate them in that.
     (a pause)
     You're completely out of hand, Elizabeth. If I  told  your  father what
you just told me, -  about  this  theatre  thing, I mean - he'd  lock you up
until your wedding day.

     Betsy rubs her cheek, sits.

     BETSY
     I asked Chris once about....

     JOANNE
     (thundering)
     I absolutely forbid you to mention that  name in  my house. I knew  it.
That's where all these ideas come from. That mocker! That blasphemer!

     Betsy makes an impatient gesture.

     BETSY
     (with malice)
     So, you're allowed, but I'm not, is that it? I know why you hate Chris.
You're jealous. You  know he's in love with me. You envy me. Your own little
affair is a farce.

     JOANNE
     Is that how you're going to talk to your mother?
     (suddenly softening, going over to Betsy)
     Please. You've been going to the theatre a great deal,  it seems.  Love
is a playwright's invention, a young wench's folly, a fool's delusion.

     Enter Chris.

     BETSY
     Chris!

     JOANNE
     Of all the impertinence in the world!

     CHRIS
     (clownishly)
     Peace upon  this humble abode! Duchess, you here! Permit me to tell you
that you are, in your  own relentlessly unscrupulous way, even more entirely
beautiful just now than you were yesterday, and the day before. I would most
certainly compromise you sexually here  and now  were  my heart not  already
engaged elsewhere.

     Joanne looks around, then throws her head back haughtily.

     JOANNE
     Please, sir, you must leave this place immediately.

     CHRIS
     But you can no longer call this den of thieves your own, Duchess.

     Betsy giggles.

     JOANNE
     What do you mean, sir?

     CHRIS
     These walls - this filthy floor,  those ugly  chairs - everything  here
belongs to posterity!  My new and brilliant  play shall  bestow  immortality
upon this unworthy place; for words, my dear  lady, are mightier than marble
and sandstone  and brick and mortar; for words live  in  memories, which are
not prone to oxidation, but  are immune to  cannon balls  and more  reliable
than....  than....  Betsy knows the  rest.  Betsy  knows so  many things,  I
sometimes find myself wondering whether  she should be let loose the way you
let her loose. She's a regular walking  encyclopedia. A member of the Secret
Service I'm sure would be delighted to have a  few words with her  someplace
dark and cozy.

     JOANNE
     Mr. Chris, I ask you to leave this house. Now.

     She rises and leaves quickly stage-left. Betsy laughs.

     BETSY
     Stop making  fun of her, you silly brute! You  know it  only annoys her
more.

     CHRIS
     (laughing)
     I can't help it.

     BETSY
     She's my mother.

     CHRIS
     Yes, I know. Everything about you is special, even your mother.

     He embraces and kisses her on the lips.

     BETSY
     (disengaging)
     Chris, are you ever going to grow up?

     CHRIS
     (thinks about this)
     To  know  that  that woman - ignorant, pompous, didactic, hypocritical,
vain - is running a theatre company! decides what plays to put on! which  to
reject! I'm sorry, Betsy, your  mother's a riot. Anyway, I have something to
propose, so why don't you sit down and listen.

     BETSY
     Are you....

     CHRIS
     What?

     A  pause. Betsy sits down and lowers her head.  Chris remains standing,
his left hand on the hilt of his sword.

     BETSY
     Have you decided then?

     CHRIS
     Decided what?

     BETSY
     To marry me?

     Chris laughs.

     Why are you laughing?

     CHRIS
     A poor gentleman of obscure origin. A dash of  Irish blood. A match for
a duke's daughter? No way, Betsy. Marriage between us is quite impossible at
the moment. Something better than that. We're going to France.

     Betsy, downcast, turns her back to  him. Some  time  passes before  the
last word takes effect.

     BETSY
     France!

     CHRIS
     (swooping on her)
     Yes. Don't  worry, it's not very far, it's just  south  of the Channel.
The Earl of Warwick sets off tomorrow, and we're joining him.
     (embraces her from behind, his chin on her shoulder)
     A wonderful fellow, this  Warwick  person. I visited him last night; we
had a pleasant talk, just the two of us, over a jug of ale. I  once rendered
him a little service, so he's offering to repay me in the same coin.

     BETSY
     Why? Why do you want to go there?

     CHRIS
     Oh, I don't know. To  have some fun. They  say there's a lot of fun  in
France, what with  the Huguenots  and the  Catholics slashing  one another's
throats  and stuff.  There are theatres  too, and it's generally warmer down
there. And no fog.

     BETSY
     Chris, I'm  sorry,  I  think  you're  mad. What are you  going to do in
France?

     CHRIS
     I'll get  a job as  a coachman.  Or  maybe I'll become a  pimp. Or sell
silver spoons for newborns. What the hell  is the difference? Besides,  Lord
Warwick promises to cover whatever expenses we might run up.

     BETSY
     What about your writing?

     CHRIS
     Oh, I'll go on writing of course. What's to prevent me?

     BETSY
     You don't know any French.

     CHRIS
     A  lot  of  people in  Paris  speak  passable  English.  Besides,  what
difference does it make where my stuff gets rejected - here or elsewhere?

     BETSY
     Chris, I'm  not going. I don't know whether you're joking  or  not, but
I'm not going. My place is  here,  not  in France. Who knows what the French
might think of me? They may not even find me attractive. I'm used to turning
heads in the street - that's not much, I know, but what more do I have?

     CHRIS
     (dismissing, somewhat uneasily, her last argument)
     Are you going  to talk about your  silly whims again? Look, girls don't
act in theatres. That's absurd.

     BETSY
     It's not a whim. It's a dream, Chris, a  beautiful dream. You're a man,
you'll never understand.

     A pause.

     CHRIS
     A beautiful dream indeed. Even if you could pass yourself off as a boy,
you'd find  yourself in the worst company imaginable. You know nothing about
actors.

     BETSY
     I know enough.
     (solemnly)
     The actor is supposed  to  convey  to the world  that which  what great
authors  have written. It's up to  him to understand the author's intentions
and to personify his ideas. See? I know.

     CHRIS
     An author's work has to do with neither intentions nor ideas.

     BETSY
     Are you saying  that  authors  are  too stupid and  shallow to have any
ideas?

     CHRIS
     I'm saying that good authors, when they're writing, are above such mere
trifles as ideas. Their chief concern is harmony.

     BETSY
     A  bit  over my head, that.  However, if you  were right  about authors
being such elevated creatures, wouldn't  it  make the actor's responsibility
even greater?

     CHRIS
     No.

     BETSY
     No?

     CHRIS
     No.
     (a pause)
     Look  at  what  the  Great Bitch  thinks  of  actors.  In some  of  the
ordinances,  they're  lumped  together  with  rogues, vagabonds, and  sturdy
beggars. And for once I think she's quite right.

     BETSY
     Oh,  you're insufferable, Chris! You're much too  arrogant for your own
good.  You shouldn't disdain everyone, especially not actors. After all, you
yourself write plays for them.

     CHRIS
     I write  for audiences, not actors. An actor is  a despicable creature,
devoid of personality - the  better the actor,  the meaner  and smaller  the
individual. For, in order to fill yourself  with  someone else,  you have to
squeeze  your  own self  out,  to the last drop, and  the less  there is  to
squeeze out, the easier the job. An actor will go a long way to achieve very
little; he  will cheat, plot, betray, and renounce in order  to eat,  drink,
have shelter and not work. Actors are prone to vanity; they will give up the
ideal of a lifetime for a minute of applause. They are conceited; they think
it  is they  who  are  poetic, not their lines. They are dull; they  have no
taste; they  cannot distinguish between a  good work  and a  bad one and are
more  inclined to  act in a vulgar  hopeless  farce  than in a subtle comedy
because they find hopelessness more congenial to them. They are nauseatingly
conservative; they will refuse to accept the slightest innovation because it
defies  the formula they are  accustomed  to. They are not Christians;  they
venerate the dead author who cannot laugh  at them and defile the living one
to keep him  in his misery lest  he should expose their pettiness.  They are
cruel, heartless monsters; they repeatedly and with mad abandon betray their
own kind.

     BETSY
     I do not believe you.  I'm sorry.  I think you're bitter  because  they
keep rejecting your plays.

     A pause.

     CHRIS
     I'm sorry.  Really, Betsy, I'm very  sorry. Do what you like, I have no
right to meddle in your affairs.

     BETSY
     Look, it's just for a little while. Let me  just try it out, see how it
feels. Afterwards,  if  you  wish,  we  could still go to France.  A woman's
beauty is supposed to be universal. Who knows, they might like me there.

     Chris hangs his head and remains motionless for a while. Betsy, sensing
at last that she has  hurt his feelings,  places her hand  on  his shoulder,
looks him in the eye. He turns away.

     CHRIS
     Yes, all right.
     (makes an effort, livens)
     By the way, there's a new production in town, I think we should see it.
Would  you  like  to come? The premiere  is tomorrow. It's  by one of  those
pompous asses who imitate the Greeks. Maybe I'll be able to talk Wobbly into
coming along.

     BETSY
     You're going to introduce me to your friend?

     CHRIS
     Eh? Oh, yes. Certainly. He can be loads of fun when he's in the mood.

     BETSY
     Tomorrow, then?

     CHRIS
     Tomorrow at noon, meet me at the usual place.

     BETSY
     Could we meet earlier?

     CHRIS
     No. I have to visit good old  Warwick and tell him he'll be  travelling
alone. In the meantime, would you like to take a walk along the Bankside?

     Betsy laughs happily.

     BETSY
     You're going to take me to the fair?

     CHRIS
     Of course.

     She throws herself on his neck.

     BETSY
     You're so good to me, Chris.

     They kiss. Blackout.

     Scene Three. William's  rooms, shabby  and  cold. Stage-center, against
the backdrop, a basin. Stage-right, a table with two chairs, notes on it, an
ink well, a pen. Enter William, a blanket wrapped up over his clothes. He is
shivering.

     WILLIAM
     Why does it have to be so cold? Where's my handkerchief?
     (sniffs)
     This is a disaster, really.
     (walks over to the basin, looks in it)
     Ah, there it is. Let's get it out.
     (puts his hand in the basin)
     It's  frozen  over,  damn it.  I  think  I  have  another  handkerchief
somewhere, but I have no idea where I put it.
     (sniffs)
     Let's try to get this one  out somehow. I could  stay home, of  course.
Problem is,  I'm hungry, and there  isn't  a penny anywhere.  I must go  and
borrow some money.

     He exits and returns immediately with an ice pick. He applies it to the
ice in  the  basin.  The  effort  produces no immediate  results. A  thought
strikes him. He abandons the pick,  goes to the table and looks over a sheet
of paper on it.

     The grocer refuses to extend my credit. He's a very crude fellow. Well,
grocers usually are. I tried explaining it to him. Told him that I'd pay him
back as soon as they paid me my wages, on which they are  in arrears for two
months. No use. He told me all players were liars. He has a point there,  of
course.  But  that's  still no  reason  to  starve  them. Misapplied....  by
action.... dignified.  Nonsense. The rhyme is rather ugly. Ugly, ugly.  Now,
let's see.  Dignified.... prophesied, lied,  bide, guide, side, wide, cried,
intensified. Ride.

     Enter a figure wrapped up  to its eyes  in  black. William turns around
and jumps.

     Shit! Who the hell are you!

     CHRIS
     (unwrapping)
     Take it easy, Wobbly. It's only me.

     WILLIAM
     Scared  the  living  daylights out of me!  What's the big idea, anyway?
....Ride.  I'm trying to  come up with a good rhyme here. Why don't you ever
knock?  I  don't  mind much, but it's ridiculous,  in a way, how people keep
invading this place as  though  it were a player's hotel or something. Well,
in  fact, that's what it is. Still.... What's the  big  idea?  Huh? Hide....
belied....

     CHRIS
     To  what  word? Man,  it's  cold out there.  No fire in  this place, of
course.
     (rubs his hands together)
     ....To what word?


     WILLIAM
     Huh? Oh. Misapplied.

     CHRIS
     (breathing on his hands)
     Misapplied? Let's see.... Bride, chide, eyed....

     WILLIAM
     Eyed?

     CHRIS
     You know. Eyed.

     He goes up to William and eyes him exaggeratedly.

     Eyed.

     WILLIAM
     Oh. I see. Eyed. Like, a thousand-eyed dragon.

     CHRIS
     No, just  the past tense  of the verb. You  know. To eye. As  in eyeing
someone.

     He eyes William again. William thinks hard about it.

     WILLIAM
     Oh.

     Chris turns away, shrugs, makes a wide gesture encompassing most of the
known Universe.

     CHRIS
     Stride, pride, countryside, preside, tide.

     WILLIAM
     Snide, slide, allied, homicide, purified.

     CHRIS
     Cowhide, plied, belied.

     WILLIAM
     Maybe the  critics  are right, after  all.  Maybe there  aren't  enough
rhymes in the English language.

     CHRIS
     I wouldn't listen to the critics if I were you. Critics can't rhyme  in
any language. And I'll bet they have fireplaces in their houses!

     WILLIAM
     Glide, applied.

     CHRIS
     Dignified.

     WILLIAM
     Dignified! Now, there's a thought! You really are a genius, Chris.
     (Chris throws back his head in mock acknowledgement)
     I would have  never  thought of  that. Dignified. I don't think much of
dignity these days, I guess. Now, let's see. Virtue itself turns vice, being
misapplied. And vice sometime's by action.... but, whaddya know. That's what
I had here in the first place. Dignified.

     CHRIS
     Sounds ugly.

     WILLIAM
     Doesn't it? Well, no matter. I've  had  it with this piece. You know? I
mean, one can go on editing  the  same piece  forever; but  what's  going to
happen with all the other pieces in the meantime?

     CHRIS
     I think I'll be moving to France soon.

     WILLIAM
     I mean, editing is fine only to  a point.  I usually  overdo it  in  my
sonnets.... France? Why France, of all places?

     Chris turns his back to him, stares at the audience. William is waiting
patiently. Chris lowers his head and closes his eyes.

     CHRIS
     What did you and Betsy talk about the other day?

     WILLIAM
     Strange country, France.
     (frowns)
     Betsy? Who's Betsy?

     CHRIS
     The girl you were talking with on the Bankside a couple of days ago.

     WILLIAM
     I....  Oh,  her  name  is  Betsy,  then?  Not  very attractive,  a  bit
bashful?... She's rather intelligent, I think.

     CHRIS
     I  suppose she is. Wobbly, in all honesty, you don't sleep  with her? I
need to know.

     WILLIAM
     She told me all about her last trip to  Italy. Er.... What?  Sleep with
her? No. I.... What a minute. You?

     Chris shakes his head, composes himself, turns to William.

     CHRIS
     By the way, someone was looking for you today....

     A pause.

     WILLIAM
     Really?

     CHRIS
     Yes. That fellow, the Blackfriars player. You know, tall, blond, with a
crooked smile. Lionel.

     WILLIAM
     Lionel, Lionel.... Why?

     CHRIS
     Beats me. Why don't you change your lodgings? This place is horrible.

     WILLIAM
     What kind of place would you like to see me living in?

     CHRIS
     I don't know. A warmer one.

     WILLIAM
     Africa?

     CHRIS
     Within the city limits, I mean.

     WILLIAM
     Yes, and hire a chambermaid, a cook, and a few servants....

     CHRIS
     I  realize that you're short on funds, but man, surely  this  isn't the
best your money can get you?

     WILLIAM
     No, it's more than I can afford, in fact.

     CHRIS
     Oh, stop.

     WILLIAM
     Get a grip, Chris. You're talking to one of Lord Chamberlain's Men.

     CHRIS
     Still....

     WILLIAM
     Whenever there's  a plague scare,  we are the first to be shut down  by
the authorities. The conditions are disastrous, we have  to charge less  per
seat  than  any  other theatre  in the city. We have no stage  machinery. We
don't provide  true  spectacles  - we  have to  depend  almost  entirely  on
dialogue. Most of the actors are  mediocre. We  have  no  roof -  on  winter
afternoons, we're lucky when we get half the house filled.

     CHRIS
     Did you try submitting your stuff to other theatres?

     WILLIAM
     Yes. This is the fifty-forth time someone's asked me this question over
the past week. I've been counting.

     A pause.

     CHRIS
     I see. Well, at least you're not serving the Great Bitch. You'd have it
all, a theatre of your own,  servants,  chambermaids. Unfortunately, there's
always a price to pay. You wouldn't feel much like writing.

     He goes over to the window, looks out.

     WILLIAM
     Now, where was I when you interrupted me, as is your ghastly habit?

     CHRIS
     In fact, I came to invite you to see a show tomorrow.

     WILLIAM
     What show?

     CHRIS
     A new play at the Blackfriars, with a  lot of wailing. Some fashionable
imitator of the Roman style. My treat.

     WILLIAM
     Why do you bother going to those shows?

     CHRIS
     They're the easiest way to  build one's confidence. When I'm down, when
I'm feeling blue, when I begin to doubt myself, I pay the admission  fee and
see a piece  of modern theatre. I come home almost  cured, having  satisfied
myself that no  matter how  hopeless  I might  deem my poor  self, there are
people out there who are more hopeless still. And then there are women.

     WILLIAM
     Eh?

     CHRIS
     Oh,  just a  thought. There's a woman standing  across  the street  who
resembles  your  wife  rather  closely, and  she  seems to  be  looking  for
something or someone. Which reminds me - your wife was looking for you.

     WILLIAM
     She's here?

     Chris shrugs, walks away from the window. William stands transfixed.

     CHRIS
     Why do I always forget what her  name is? Something abominably trivial.
Mary Jane? Listen, that sonnet you wanted to show me....

     WILLIAM
     My wife?

     He rushes to the window, looks out, jumps away, turns pale.

     CHRIS
     You look troubled.

     WILLIAM
     Please, Chris. You have to do something. I can't see her just now.

     CHRIS
     Well, you could slip out the back door and take a long walk.

     WILLIAM
     Brilliant!

     He rushes to the door. Suddenly, he stops.

     CHRIS
     What now?

     WILLIAM
     Ah, blithering idiot! The hanky!

     He  dashes to  the basin, picks up  the  ice pick  and makes a feverish
attempt to extricate the hanky.

     CHRIS
     May I....

     WILLIAM
     I can't  go out without  my hanky. It's beastly cold  out, and my  nose
will start running immediately.

     CHRIS
     You're so vain, Wobbly.

     WILLIAM
     Just don't even ask.

     Enter Anne.

     ANNE
     William!

     A painful pause. William sighs ruefully, shrugs, looks at her.

     WILLIAM
     Why don't you ever knock?

     ANNE
     What!

     CHRIS
     Listen, guys, I think I'll just drop by later. William, remember, we're
going to see that play.

     WILLIAM
     Yes, all right.

     Chris smiles, bows to Anne.

     CHRIS
     Madam, your servant.

     Anne  more  or  less  ignores  him.  He  wraps  himself  up  and  exits
stage-left.

     ANNE
     Aren't you glad to see me?

     A pause.

     WILLIAM
     Yes, very glad.

     ANNE
     Give me a kiss?

     He walks over  to her, hesitates, kisses her. She throws herself on his
neck.

     ANNE
     Oh, William, I missed you so much. The kids miss you too.

     WILLIAM
     How's Suzanne?

     ANNE
     (disengaging, pouting)
     She's all right.
     (a pause)
     Why  does  it always  have to  be Suzanne?  Always! Never Hamnet, never
Judith, always Suzanne! She's the least amiable of the three. She's naughty.
She's wayward.  Whenever I try  to  remonstrate  with her,  she always says,
"Daddy  would only  approve,"  or "Daddy  told  you  to  stay  out of  these
matters." She's intolerable.

     WILLIAM
     (smiles)
     She's lovely.

     A pause.

     ANNE
     Oh, all  right. She's lovely.  But she  misses you too. It's  all  your
fault.

     WILLIAM
     My fault! You're the one who took them away.

     ANNE
     You forced me. Do you imagine we could live in this dump?  Look at this
place. I'll bet  you have  rats here. It's  cold,  it's filthy. The children
need fresh air and at least one square meal every day.

     WILLIAM
     Yes. I suppose they do.

     ANNE
     I  just don't understand  you. What is it that you  find  so  wonderful
about this city?

     WILLIAM
     There are no theatres in the countryside.

     ANNE
     Yes, there are. There are touring companies.

     WILLIAM
     They don't accept outsiders' manuscripts.

     ANNE
     Oh,  and  I suppose that here, in this city, people just  snap up those
manuscripts,  just seize them even before you finish  them, and  pay  you in
gold for  them. William,  you must face  it at last.  You've been  at it for
years. No  one  needs your  writing. It's  good, it's amusing,  but  it just
doesn't fit the requirements.

     WILLIAM
     I do get produced.

     ANNE
     Yes, by a  company  that doesn't make enough money even to pay  its own
actors. William,  darling, you must leave this place and come  back with me.
Your father has agreed to give you a job at one of his shops.

     WILLIAM
     Oh, so you've been talking to Dad, haven't you?

     ANNE
     Who do  you think has been supporting us all this time?  Do you imagine
that four  people can subsist on the miserly sums you send us  from time  to
time; that these sums can keep us fed and clothed and sheltered? William, if
you still love me, even just a little bit, please come with me.

     WILLIAM
     You know, Anne, each time you bring up this lovely topic, it only makes
our rift more obvious.

     ANNE
     You don't love me anymore?

     A pause.

     WILLIAM
     I was a boy of  eighteen, and I met a woman, vital, open-minded, sweet,
perfectly  capable  of thinking  for  herself.  I  fell  in love  instantly,
irrevocably. Every morning we woke up smiling, both of us. We were  children
of light. Then, gradually, almost imperceptibly, this woman began to change.
I was  quite puzzled at  first to  discover  that  we  had  different  value
systems. Quite sure  of her  natural charms, she decided  it  was no  longer
necessary to listen  when  I had  something to say,  to look when I  pointed
something out  to  her in the  street, to smile when I complimented her,  to
feel special when I planted an eager kiss on her gentle foot. To suffer when
I suffered, to dream when  I dreamt, to  cover  her  face when  I gnashed my
teeth in frustration. She  developed certain traits that would be natural in
a merchant's  wife but were completely alien to my spirit. Suddenly, our one
world cracked down the middle, and the two halves started drifting away from
each other. Everything we once shared vanished. I flatter myself that my own
value system  never really changed  much. I  loved  that  Anne - the  sweet,
beautiful Anne of rainy mornings and forest murmurs, crossing a field with a
graceful gait; this Anne - no longer caring  what I think of her appearance,
no longer bothering  to conceal her  mundane purposes, this Anne who refuses
to  give  me another chance while  planning and restructuring my life for me
behind my back, conferring with my father, this Anne I never loved.

     A pause.

     ANNE
     I don't quite see  why you think I'm a  different  woman now because  I
hate this place you live in.

     WILLIAM
     Then  by  George  go  and see and eye doctor! This  place  is all I can
afford at this point, and it's much better than most places in which today's
authors and actors live. Here, when  I get out in  the  street, I hear human
speech instead of my father's  advice;  I see people's faces instead of cows
and pigs; this is my world, and I'm sorry it has failed to become yours too.

     ANNE
     I've always been afraid of this, William.

     WILLIAM
     Oh?

     ANNE
     Did it ever occur to you that, in marriage, compromise was  a necessary
component? Perhaps the most important one?

     WILLIAM
     I thought it was trust.

     ANNE
     (not listening)
     Throughout our relationship, I've always  been the  one who sacrificed,
yielded, and obeyed. You only  think  of yourself; you never asked me what I
wanted in this life; what my dreams were. You were selfish enough to presume
that my sole purpose  was to assist you  in attaining fame. For you  sake, I
abandoned my friends, left my  education  unfinished,  learned to be a quick
and good  cook and housekeeper.  I  too used  to have  ambitions,  but  they
weren't important to you; so, I abandoned them.

     WILLIAM
     I never asked you to do any of that.

     ANNE
     Oh, no?

     WILLIAM
     (firmly)
     No.

     A pause.

     ANNE
     We would have never survived otherwise.  I  always washed and sowed and
took care  of the children  and cooked.  You were  always  out  drinking, or
seeing  plays, or conversing with suspicious characters. The only time you'd
be  home was when  you thought you had to write something.  And your  acting
career is a joke. You know it's just  a sinecure for you, yet another way to
amuse yourself. You know you're a lousy actor, William.

     WILLIAM
     You remind me of street peddlers who force dubious services on you  and
then demand to be paid for them.

     ANNE
     You don't have to insult me!

     WILLIAM
     Our  last  four years, Anne.  Remember them? Each time I  came home,  I
would  be subjected  to an  atmosphere  of quiet  hostility. Yes, you always
liked  my  writing - but you  imagined,  as  you  still  do,  that  it  just
materialized out of nothing, that no work, no considerable  effort ever went
into it.  Each time I came home, you'd demand that I immediately start doing
something - some chore, and then take offence because I wouldn't. You'd take
offence  because  I  didn't  pay any attention  to the children.  You'd take
offence because I threw my clothes all over the place. Because I didn't want
to talk to you. Because I didn't want dinner. You'd pout and refuse to speak
to  me,  and  I would have to  leave again,  because writing is the kind  of
business  in  which  it is impossible  to accomplish  anything when there is
hostility around you, especially when  it's  directed at you personally. You
asked me whether it ever occurred to me that compromise was important. Well,
I ask you, did  it ever occur to you that in the past ten years, each time I
tried to work at home, I  never wrote a passage without being interrupted by
you,  interrupted with a  most  innocent  smile? that you  have  an  amazing
ability to come up with the stupidest questions  or comments whenever  I sit
down to work? that each time, each fucking time,  Anne, you  would apologize
for  the  interruption,  and  would  go on  apologizing until  there  was no
question of my getting some of the concentration back?

     ANNE
     (savagely)
     Well, I'm sorry!

     WILLIAM
     You don't need to do it even now.

     ANNE
     A spare  room for you to work in  would  have solved, can  still solve,
every problem in this family. The country air....

     WILLIAM
     Men are  so made, Anne, that,  even  if  I could manage to keep you and
your voice out  of that  room, and forbade you to ever knock  on its door in
order  to call  my  attention to something or other,  I would  probably feel
guilty each time I entered it.

     ANNE
     You will regret this.

     WILLIAM
     I know.

     ANNE
     Is there another woman in your life?

     A pause. Anne goes up to him and looks him in the eye. He is silent.

     There is, isn't there? Tell me.

     He grabs  the  ice pick and begins working it furiously.  Presently, he
injures  his  finger.  He cries out and sucks on it. Anne  turns sharply and
goes off, almost bumping into Betsy as she exits.

     I beg your pardon.
     (to William)
     If you  change  your mind, you're always welcome at  our house. By  the
way, do you have any money?

     WILLIAM
     Er.... why?

     ANNE
     I need some to get back.  Well, never mind, I'll ask my  sister.  She's
only a few blocks from here; she just married a grocer.

     BETSY
     I'm sorry.

     Anne  exits.  Betsy,  dressed as  a  boy,  scans the room, takes a deep
breath. She  looks  at William and  suddenly gasps  and  covers her mouth in
horror. William looks at her, still sucking his finger.

     I'm.... I'm sorry. Am I interrupting something?
     (a pause)
     Are you one of Lord Chamberlain's men?

     WILLIAM
     Yes.

     BETSY
     I....

     WILLIAM
     What do you want, boy? People just aren't tactful anymore.

     BETSY
     I'd like to join your company.

     WILLIAM
     Then you must speak to the manager.

     BETSY
     But there's no one else in the whole house. Everyone's gone out.

     WILLIAM
     Yeah.... Well....

     He turns to her, squints, stops sucking his finger, goes to the table.

     BETSY
     It's just that I really want to be an actor. It's very important to me,
you see.

     WILLIAM
     (not looking at her; absent-mindedly)
     Well, well.

     BETSY
     I'd like to try out for your company. Please, may I?

     WILLIAM
     (absently)
     Yeah, all right.

     BETSY
     So, what do I do?

     WILLIAM
     (turns to her)
     Well, normally they'd  give you a page from  a play, and  you'd read it
aloud, and they'd see whether you could act or not.
     (giggles)

     BETSY
     May I do that now?

     WILLIAM
     What? Oh.
     (suppresses a laugh)
     I'm sorry, I'm not really into it just now. Could you come back later?

     BETSY
     Please, sir. I may  not have  the courage  later. I'm very nervous even
now.

     WILLIAM
     Oh, well.

     He picks a page from the pile on the table at  random, hands it to her,
goes to the basin, takes the pick, puts it down again.

     BETSY
     (looking at the page)
     You want me to read this?

     WILLIAM
     Yeah. Go ahead.

     He  turns  away, goes  over to  the table.  Presently,  he  picks up  a
manuscript and stares at it.

     BETSY
     (somewhat puzzled)
     Dear William.  I'm afraid that  we will have to disappoint you again by
turning the script down and by saying that we don't feel your work is suited
to our theatre.  This play is so labyrinthine in terms of plot and narrative
that it's impossible to get a hold  of what is  going on, a confusion  which
was not  helped  by  a lack  of internal  logic  and  a  somewhat  liberally
interpreted pentameter. I'm sorry to disappoint you  again. However, I would
suggest that you try attending  some workshops which  might  help to develop
your work and to  establish what works and what  doesn't dramatically. Yours
Sincerely.... er....
     (stammers)
     Joanne Coleridge.... Duchess of Mulberry.

     William drops the manuscript on  the  table. He  frowns,  walks over to
Betsy, snatches the letter from her.

     WILLIAM
     Give me that.
     (scans it)
     Oh. The lady's been quick this time. Poor Romeo.
     (as an afterthought, shrugging)
     Stupid bitch.

     Betsy puts her  palm to her mouth. William laughs, crumples the letter,
goes over to the table, picks out another sheet.

     Here. This may be better in terms of grammar, if anything.

     Betsy accepts the sheet, looks over it. He says without looking at her,

     With a voice like that, you'll be  assigned  women's parts most  of the
time.

     BETSY
     I understand that. I wouldn't mind.

     WILLIAM
     Have you acted before?

     BETSY
     Er.... no.

     WILLIAM
     How old are you?

     BETSY
     Seventeen.

     WILLIAM
     How's your memory? Can you memorize lines quickly?

     BETSY
     (looking up from the sheet)
     I.... Actually.... I haven't tried.

     WILLIAM
     Sit down.

     She does. He looks at her calmly. She smiles shyly.

     BETSY
     Why are you looking at me like that?

     WILLIAM
     Where were you born?

     BETSY
     (promptly, showing determination)
     In Wales.

     WILLIAM
     West Country, eh? I see. Do you know any Latin?

     BETSY
     (promptly)
     Some.

     WILLIAM
     Parents living?

     BETSY
     (promptly)
     Yes.

     WILLIAM
     Do you drink much?

     BETSY
     (promptly)
     No.

     WILLIAM
     When did you have your last period?

     BETSY
     (promptly)
     Two weeks ago.

     A  pause.  She  realizes  her blunder  and  is  about  to  protest.  He
interrupts her quickly by placing his hand on hers.

     WILLIAM
     Please.

     He walks over to the window, looks out.

     BETSY
     I'm very sorry, sir.

     WILLIAM
     Why  this  particular company,  pray? Aren't there better  companies in
this city?

     BETSY
     (on the verge of tears)
     I thought I'd have to start somewhere.

     WILLIAM
     At the bottom. Eh?

     BETSY
     I'm very sorry I've taken up so much of your time.

     She rises, goes to  the  door stage-right,  carrying the sheet with her
absent-mindedly.

     WILLIAM
     Stop.

     BETSY
     It's all right.

     WILLIAM
     Stop!

     He rushes after  her, grabs her by the arm. He  drags  her back to  the
chair, forces her to sit down.

     Sometimes things are  done best when  they are  done  on a whim. What's
theatre  life  but a network of quirks? Poor Anne,  noble Anne, brave  Anne.
You're the girl I met at the Bridge.

     BETSY
     Yes,  and  I'm  really  sorry  I  interrupted  you  in  the  middle  of
something....

     WILLIAM
     Yes, I was trying to figure out how much money I could get for my hat.

     BETSY
     (joyously)
     Really?

     WILLIAM
     Yes.

     BETSY
     (relieved)
     And  I thought  you were composing poetry, so I thought, oh my,  I must
have ruined a masterpiece just now! Oh, I'm so glad....

     WILLIAM
     (suspiciously)
     How did you know I was a poet?

     BETSY
     Oh, I can  usually  tell  these  things. You  see a  person talking  to
himself without moving his lips. The absent look. The head is thrown  back a
little bit. People keep bumping into him, and he doesn't turn around to tell
them off....

     WILLIAM
     I usually do....  Oh, but that's Chris! That's  exactly  his  habit. He
always composes in the street.

     BETSY
     Chris?
     (suddenly cautious, blushing)
     You know Chris?

     WILLIAM
     Not exactly. Only Chris really knows Chris. But we are  acquainted. You
must be Betsy. He told me you were a bit eccentric.

     BETSY
     (suspiciously)
     What else did he tell you about me?

     WILLIAM
     Oh,  lots of  things.  However, let us continue our little  experiment.
It's getting interesting.

     He  paces, pondering. Suddenly, he runs to the table, looks through the
pile of  manuscripts, extracts  a  page. He speaks  to  her sternly and  she
cowers.

     Here, go through this  quickly. Then you'll  read it out loud to me. Is
that clear?

     BETSY
     Why are you looking at me like that? You're frightening me. I'm scared.

     WILLIAM
     That's what auditions are all about. Go ahead.

     Betsy glances at the pages, reads the first lines.

     BETSY
     (monotonously)
     I am a princess, sir....
     (looks up at William; quickly and expressively)
     I am a princess, sir. A heart of ice
     Beats in my chest. I cannot love as freely
     As common people do. The sacred duty
     Of.... monarchs..... is to be.... equally suave....
     (she begins to sob convulsively)

     WILLIAM
     Hold it, hold it. Calm down, will you!

     She  stops  reading;  she  sobs  desperately.  He  is  looking  at  her
critically. He squints, takes a deep breath, paces, suddenly swoops on her.

     Now, you see, you're a princess. You were brought up  in a certain way,
all  right?  Like,  there  should be some inherent  like dignity  here, some
hauteur, some natural arrogance. At the same time, you're a  woman, a  woman
in love, and suffering. Think about it. You're  telling the  man you love to
beat it in order to preserve your mission  in life. You're  also telling him
you don't love him, hoping  that he'll believe you and give up. Also, you've
just  signed his death sentence, and that's  a  factor too, however small it
may seem to you.

     BETSY
     I thought it was to lessen his pain.

     WILLIAM
     What, to kill him?

     BETSY
     No, to tell him I don't love him.

     WILLIAM
     No. First of all, this will only increase his pain, if anything. Second
of all,  in  love,  when a sacrifice is  being  made, people think  only  of
themselves.  It's a kind of self-preserving selfishness. Know  what  I mean?
Suffering  for  both yourself  and your lover is  more than any  human heart
could take. So, once again, with feeling.

     BETSY
     I.... What?

     WILLIAM
     Have another go at it. I'm listening.

     Betsy  looks at  him in astonishment. He makes a face. She looks at the
page again, collects her nerve, takes a deep breath.

     BETSY
     I am a princess, sir. A heart of ice
     Beats in my chest. I cannot love as freely
     As common people do. The sacred duty
     Of monarchs is to be equally suave
     Towards everyone.

     At the last line, enter Lionel, picking up the thread quickly.

     LIONEL
     Even your former lover!

     BETSY
     (startled, continues)
     That, sir, is one big subject we shall not
     Discuss at length; since you're a man of sense
     And delicate, and tactful, and devoted,
     You'll never be so crude as to remind me
     Of childish pranks in which, children of nature,
     We used so indiscreetly to indulge.

     LIONEL
     (hotly)
     A year has not elapsed since in my arms
     I held you last.

     BETSY
     My Lord, be kind to me.

     LIONEL
     Your hair against my cheek, your hand in mine,
     Your name upon my lips.

     BETSY
     But will you listen
     To reason, sir?

     LIONEL
     If reason be this coldness,
     This artful fancy, this unGodly treason
     Of everything I cherish in this world,
     Then, by your leave, madam, I will not listen.

     BETSY
     I've signed your sentence, sir. Tomorrow morning
     You'll die. Your Cleopatra is no longer
     A helpless child. No morbid protestations
     Will help your lot.

     LIONEL
     Are we holding an audition here?

     WILLIAM
     (who was quite taken in, and is now startled back into reality)
     Oh. I'm sorry. What an interesting piece, after all.

     LIONEL
     Yes. I ran across a copy once and couldn't tear myself away. A bit  too
melodramatic, if you ask me, but quite captivating. Who wrote it, any idea?

     WILLIAM
     One of our company's actors, I would imagine.

     Lionel laughs.  Betsy is  eager to know William's opinion and  is quite
annoyed by Lionel's presence.

     BETSY
     (to Lionel)
     Thank you for bearing me out, sir.

     LIONEL
     (smiling)
     You're most welcome, my boy.

     WILLIAM
     What an idea, though! Not bad at all.
     (walks over to Betsy, inspects her appearance critically)
     Yes. I think this just might work. Except....

     LIONEL
     Er.... William, I believe?

     WILLIAM
     Yes.

     LIONEL
     Of Lord Chamberlain's Men?

     WILLIAM
     Yes.

     LIONEL
     Ah, good. You do know who I am, do you not?

     WILLIAM
     Well, yes, of course. Lionel Collins, the actor.

     LIONEL
     The best one in the whole city.

     BETSY
     (delightedly)
     Oh! You are Lionel  Collins! Oh,  how wonderful! I thought it  was you,
but I couldn't be sure. Oh, I saw you in Tamburlaine, you were magnificent!

     LIONEL
     Betsy, are you sick or something?

     BETSY
     Sir?

     LIONEL
     You're not doing this, Betsy. Whatever it is  you're up to, it's just a
new whim of yours, as  usual.  I'm  here to audition,  and it  is  extremely
important for me to get accepted, and  you're in  the way. Please  get  out.
Girls don't act in plays. If you'd kindly excuse us....

     WILLIAM
     I beg your pardon.

     LIONEL
     Oh, yes. I  am here to audition. Does  this  surprise you?  It  is  so,
nevertheless.

     BETSY
     (to Lionel)
     I'm not leaving until he says I should.
     (indicates William)

     WILLIAM
     You wish to join our company.

     LIONEL
     That's correct.

     BETSY
     (finally realizes this)
     Oh, but you must  be  mad,  Lionel.  Are you  serious? You mean, you're
going to leave Mom's theatre and join these vagrants?

     LIONEL
     Well, you want to join them too, right?

     BETSY
     I'm only a beginner. One has to start somewhere.

     LIONEL
     (waves her off, to William)
     Sir, I believe your company is the only one in town in which I would be
able fully to utilize my considerable skills. Permit me  to join it.  If you
don't have any  openings for leads at the moment, fine, I'll take any  role.
If not, I could work as a prompter.

     WILLIAM
     Well.... I'm afraid I'm not qualified to make such decisions....

     LIONEL
     Oh yes  you are. And remember, my  presence alone  can draw a  thousand
people into your theatre even on the coldest of all afternoons. Am I hired?

     WILLIAM
     But, sir, you are speaking to the wrong person, I assure you.  I'm just
a poor second-rate actor. You must speak to the manager, really.

     LIONEL
     I'm sure you  could  handle the manager for me if  you wished to do so.
You have more leverage around this place  than you  let on, and don't ask me
how I know this, I just do. I press my question. Am I hired?

     WILLIAM
     I....

     Enter the Man In Black rapidly.  He  scans  the  room, draws his sword,
goes to the door stage-right, pushing William rudely out of the way with one
hand. He kicks the door, looks in, comes back, grabs William by the throat.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Where is he?  Huh? Where's  that abominable, despicable rat, that vile,
treacherous friend of yours? Answer me, you vermin!

     WILLIAM
     (struggling to get free)
     What friend? What are you talking.... about....

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Your poetic friend. Master Christopher. Where is he? Huh?

     WILLIAM
     I don't know!

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Oh, you don't know, huh!

     He shoves William on the floor.

     LIONEL
     Excuse me, sir....

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     (to William)
     I give you exactly one second to make up your filthy mind as to whether
you want to....

     LIONEL
     (impressively)
     Excuse me, sir!

     The Man  In Black dashes for him with the intention  to punch but stops
abruptly, seeing that there is a pistol in Lionel's hand.

     BETSY
     (to the Man In Black)
     Do be sensible,  sir. Believe me,  he won't think twice about  shooting
you, he's very cruel and insensitive and has no conscience whatever.  All he
wants  is  attention, and you'd  better give him  some.  I'm  speaking  from
experience.

     LIONEL
     (to the Man In Black)
     Do  please  remove  your mask, sir. It's  impolite, walking around in a
mask, thinking that the whole world is but a mask ball. Away with it.

     The Man In Black stares at Lionel. He is outraged  and stomps his  foot
impatiently.

     BETSY
     Oh, please, sir, do as he asks. It won't kill you if you take that mask
off, You can always put it back on afterwards.

     The Man In Black removes the mask.

     LIONEL
     Well well well, what do you know!  Young Warwick, in person. How's your
dear old  uncle, is he all right? You  weren't brought up properly, Warwick.
Do you forget the old English saying that a man's home is his castle?

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     You'll hang  for this, Master  Lionel, or  whatever your  proper name's
supposed to be. I  don't  care who you really are.  It is not entirely clear
yet what  part you  played  in the Warwick  plot.  But  marginal evidence is
easily procured against anyone  these days. I  mean,  anyone. Is that clear,
Lionel?

     LIONEL
     Mister Collins, if you don't mind. Anyway, I will not hang for this, as
you put it, simply because in order  to hang me, you'd have to explain  to a
lot  of  people how  and why you  - a member  o the Secret  Service, special
training and all - were put off your course by a vagabond actor who, however
brilliant, handsome, resourceful, and witty - for I am all of those things -
is nevertheless merely an actor. Let me emphasize this. Merely an actor.
     (smiles radiantly)
     As to some plot or other, that's pure libel, for which you can be sued.
Now, we have some business still to transact, William and I. You interrupted
us.  Please leave  now, and make sure I  don't find you  waiting  up for  me
around the corner with your dagger drawn; you might not like what happens to
you if I do.

     A pause.

     BETSY
     Do as he says, sir.  You can't imagine how vicious and treacherous this
man can be. If you had to go through everything I go through because of him,
you'd  know better  than contradict him, believe me. The  man  is a  perfect
monster.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Now, look. All I need to know is where Christopher is.  I swear no harm
will come to anyone here if you could just tell me where to find him.

     LIONEL
     Well, William did tell you just then that he doesn't know, did he not?

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     William's lying.

     LIONEL
     That, sir, is your  own fault. You  forced him  with  your rudeness and
your threats. Instead of merely not telling you, he had to lie.

     Enter the Woman In Black.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Robert.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Er....

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     What are you doing here?

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Looking for Chris.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Go  to  the  palace  immediately. Lord Chamberlain  wants  to  see you.
There's news from Walter.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     I....

     LIONEL
     (lowering his pistol)
     Don't you have any manners, you brainless sack  of shit? The lady wants
you to leave.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     (to the Woman In Black)
     Madam....

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     (coldly, with near-fury)
     Robert, please just do as you're told.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Very well.

     He bows  to  her;  casts  a  threatening  glance  at  Lionel;  gets  an
exaggeratedly threatening glance back; and exits quickly stage-left.

     The Woman In Black  smiles  at  Lionel. They  exchange a rapid humorous
glance. Lionel smiles back, his eyes sparkling.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     (to Lionel)
     I  apologize for Robert's behavior,  Master William. By the way, you do
resemble someone.... Oh, of course  - Lionel  Collins, the player, the lover
of the Duchess of Mulberry, and Warwick's confidant....

     LIONEL
     (suppressing a laugh)
     As a matter of fact, Madam, I am Lionel Collins. As to the other things
you've mentioned....

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     (suppressing a giggle)
     You are?
     (looks at the other two)

     LIONEL
     ....I'm  here particularly  because I'm trying to  severe certain links
and disassociate  myself altogether from certain  ugly  events which seem to
have stained my reputation somewhat.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Oh.
     (to William, smiling)
     You are, then....

     LIONEL
     (interrupting cheerfully)
     I see that I've been libeled;  however, I've never been involved in any
plots,  nor have  I  ever been Lord Warwick's confidant; the  best proof  of
which is the fact that I'm here, auditioning for  Master William with an eye
to joining  his company. I covet no riches.  I'm only a humble player who is
happy in his trade and wishes nothing more  than to be  allowed  to practice
it.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Master William?

     WILLIAM
     That is my name, Madam.

     A pause.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     (looking at Betsy)
     And?

     BETSY
     I'm....

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     How  very curious. How's  Mom,  all right?  I  do  so  hope she's well.
Anyway,  Mr.  Collins, you're rather a clever  person,  I admit. Now, Master
William, you are an author, I believe?

     WILLIAM
     I?

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Yes, you. Personally.

     WILLIAM
     Er, yes, sort of.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Some  of your poetry is quite beautiful, if a bit  simplistic. However,
you also write  plays. There's one I remember in particular; the one about a
certain member  of the York branch  in which your political views  were  set
forth, especially in regard  to the pretenders. You don't seem to sympathize
with the Yorks, then?

     WILLIAM
     Madam, I....
     (shakes his head)
     I'm merely an artist.... I'm not allowed to take sides.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Oh, Master William!

     WILLIAM
     (frowning)
     I.... That man who was here.... Chris. He's after Chris.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     You have no beliefs, then? No convictions whatsoever?

     WILLIAM
     Er.... Well, not exactly. I believe....

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Yes?

     WILLIAM
     I believe in God.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     And?

     WILLIAM
     (resolutely)
     I believe that no true  believer  must ever  take  sides. Madam,  Chris
is....

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     (skeptically)
     Where does it say so?

     WILLIAM
     (decided)
     Madam, one can either love  one's neighbor or participate in plots. One
cannot  do  both.  I  think....  that,  while  struggling  to right  herself
politically....
     (looks down at the table, picks up a sheet absently)
     ....England  has  been ignoring  matters of far greater importance than
one's right  to  own; sacrificing far grander concepts than  one's  right to
gain. We are  a  peaceful  race torn apart  by hatred;  a nation  so  deeply
immersed  in   hypocrisy  that   we  can  no  longer  face  ourselves  in  a
looking-glass. Now, that's not what Our Lord's own Son came down to die for.
We have long forgotten what love is. I....

     The Woman In  Black sits  slowly, watching  William. Lionel is  smiling
sheepishly, looking sideways. Betsy is wide-eyed.

     No one dares to love any longer, for love and fear, love and hypocrisy,
love and mistrust do not....  er.... mix easily. Our women no longer abandon
themselves utterly to their  husbands; and the husbands have become unworthy
of their wives' love. We have a frigid bitch on the throne....

     Lionel turns away and rolls his eyes. Betsy closes her eyes and expects
to die. The Woman In Black raises her head haughtily.

     ....who  separates  lovers,  who sets  father  against son and  brother
against  brother  only to  satisfy her malicious  humor....  And yet, I pity
her.... She has never experienced  true  love. No woman is born frigid. They
become  so  when they  refuse to  trust their lovers. I....  had a  mistress
once....  I  was seventeen.  She was a  beautiful creature,  but she counted
heavily on my  seemingly  imminent rise  in the world of trade. Even  in her
happiest moments,  at night,  with her eyes closed, her mouth open, her hips
thrashing, she kept thinking of the five  or  so shops I was going to manage
soon  in my father's name. When it finally dawned  on her  that  I had other
ideas regarding  my  career, she left. Reluctantly, painfully - but she left
me after making love to me one last time - and that night was absolutely the
worst in my admittedly limited experience.

     LIONEL
     A little personal touch.

     Suddenly, William  frowns  as if remembering  something. The three  are
watching  him. He turns  and walks over to the  basin. He grabs the pick and
starts working it again. General consternation.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Er.... Excuse me?

     LIONEL
     He's slightly off his rocker. Most authors are rather eccentric.

     BETSY
     (sincerely)
     Poor guy.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Master William!

     Suddenly, William drops the pick and crosses over to the Woman In Black
as if struck by a brilliant new idea. She is tempted to back away from  him,
chair and all. Preoccupied, he is all urgency.

     WILLIAM
     You know, a friend of mine is in trouble. He  made a  single error when
he was  very, very young. They want to kill  him now. This must be prevented
somehow.  He  is said  to have  taken part in  some  plot  or  other. That's
nonsense. I know for a  fact that he's  been writing  a new play these  past
four  months.  I've read  bits  of  it,  it's  a  grand  little thing.  It's
physically  impossible  to write like that and take part in conspiracies  at
the same time.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Why are you telling me all this?

     WILLIAM
     Besides, he's really quite harmless. He's  a ham, a  poseur, a natural.
He loves theatrics, he's fond of practical jokes, he  makes  it his business
to be  thought of  as big and bad and  mean.  But....  I've known  him for a
couple of years  now.... He's a coward. We are taught to disdain cowards. We
adore tyrants, we glorify murderers, we  find ways to  justify the thief and
the rapist. Cowards we  shun.  Until we suddenly find out that  most people,
including ourselves, are cowards. That's when we begin to hate them. But....
Cowards are  gentler and sweeter than  the brave  man, who tends to be cruel
and heartless.  Cowards are more thoughtful that heroes who are  customarily
bone-headed. Chris  is  a  coward. Only a  person  who  has known  fear  can
describe it. Please, he must be spared.

     A pause. The Woman In Black rises. She is an inch taller  than William.
She looks him in the face.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Young man, I forgive  you  your rashness and your  meddling  in affairs
that do  not  at  all  concern you.  There  are  things  still  beyond  your
perception. But you must be very careful in the future.

     William and the Woman In Black glare at each other.

     Quietly, stealthily,  Lionel gets  hold of Betsy's hand and  pulls  her
towards the  exit.  Betsy,  fascinated  by  the  confrontation, is at  first
annoyed, then surprised. At last, confusion. Half-heartedly, she lets Lionel
lead her away. They exit quietly.

     WILLIAM
     Why should  I? So  that, sooner or later, I  could become  the  Queen's
lover, as Chris once was; and then be sacrificed to one cause or another, as
he is about to be sacrificed?

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     (haughtily and gravely)
     He was never the Queen's lover.

     WILLIAM
     No, of course not. The Queen has no sense of humor.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     What's that supposed to mean?

     WILLIAM
     She does not see how denying the obvious can be comical.

     The Woman In Black rises. They stand facing each other.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     You  know, Master William,  those words alone  are  enough  to have you
broken on the wheel.

     William is visibly shaken. He steps back, looks away.

     WILLIAM
     I didn't mean to insult Her Majesty.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     One must always remember his place.

     WILLIAM
     Yes.

     The Woman In Black  hesitates. Now that he is subdued, he  is far  less
interesting than when he was insolent. Suddenly, she smiles.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     We'll let it slide. Deep down in your heart, you're as loyal as anyone,
I'm sure. A certain work of yours which  has been  brought  to our attention
shows that you're  devoted  to the Queen.  Would you like an opportunity  to
prove your loyalty to her?

     WILLIAM
     Er.... I'm.... Do I have to prove it? I mean....

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     So  that  there's  no doubt.  There  is  a special group,  you  see,  a
fraternity  almost,  which  encompasses  all  stations  of  life;  they  are
everywhere; each of them knows  the Queen  personally and serves her to  the
best of his abilities. Each is then rewarded according to his merits. You're
welcome to join them, Master William, whenever you like.

     A pause.

     WILLIAM
     Strange.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     What is?

     WILLIAM
     There are all kinds of  trades out there; yet it never occurs to anyone
to ask a carpenter to do anything other than carpeting; the farmer  runs his
farm; the horse breeder breeds horses; the general leads armies into battle.
Only the artist is always asked to do things he  is not naturally  qualified
for. Why? Because our work is lighter? No. It's oftentimes harder than most.
Because they  need us less  than a  good  horse? No. People would  rather be
entertained  than galloped over.  Only  today, I've already  been  asked  to
become a clerk, a farmer, and a  manager in quick  succession. Now I'm being
asked to try my hand at spying.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Spying! Who's talking of spying?

     WILLIAM
     Man is a weak creature, Madam. Press me a  little, and I'll be anything
you like. You wish  me to become a spy? I will. A  farmer? Gladly. Anything.
But will I be the same man when I quit writing?

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Why should you quit writing?

     WILLIAM
     Because the two are incompatible, as Chris has demonstrated. So, it all
depends on what the Queen really wants. Does  she want poets to love her and
to write her sonnets; or does she want snakes to bite  people for her and to
loathe her for it? Talent or servitude? Theatres or prisons?

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Master William!

     WILLIAM
     Does she  want artists  to kiss her  hand, or hypocrites  to  lick  her
boots? I'd probably make a fine bootlicker - I'm not as bad an actor as they
say, after all. Well? Should I get down on all fours and lick it?

     He gets down and puts out his tongue. He crawls  towards her. She steps
back. He  looks inquiringly up at her. She extends her hand  and turns away.
He  rises, bends, and takes her hand. He kisses  it and holds it  in his own
for  a moment. She  turns and looks at him. They look each other in the eye,
William  still bent over her hand.  He straightens, still holding her  hand.
She inches closer to him and half-closes  her eyes. She turns her face up to
his.

     Please spare Chris, Your Majesty.

     She opens her eyes. She withdraws her hand  and steps back. Again, they
face each other. This time,  William's gaze is cold and steady. The Woman In
Black turns slowly around and exits stage-left.

     William stands motionless for a while. Presently, he turns and walks to
the  basin. He snatches the ice pick and delivers a splendid blow. He throws
the  pick  down, reaches  into  the basin,  and extracts  the  handkerchief.
Triumphantly, he shows it to the audience.

     At last!

     Curtain.



     Scene One. Outside the Blackfriars.

     Enter the Woman In Black, followed by De  Maisse and the Man In  black.
The  Woman  In  Black is furious. She stops, leans on the  Man In Block, and
inspects disgustedly the sole of her left shoe.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     This is  an outrage. We ought to pass a law against this sort of thing.
Stupid people, why don't they ever clean up after their ugly dogs!

     DE MAISSE
     A very good idea, Your Majesty.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     (lets go of the Man In Black's shoulder)
     I'm  very sorry, Monsieur De Maisse. We're not making a good impression
on you, I'm afraid.

     DE MAISSE
     My  diplomatic  mission   here,  Madam,  does  not  include   gathering
impressions.

     She  smiles  at his perfect composure and indicates the backdrop with a
nod.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     This is the Blackfriars, our best theatre. Looks  a  bit shabby. London
is a very filthy, run-down city, wouldn't  you  say? To think that  we could
have all those loafers who have so much free time on their hands put to work
cleaning the place up instead of engaging in hopeless conspiracies!

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     (smiling ominously)
     Madam, please. Our friend here is not really interested in our domestic
squabbles.

     DE MAISSE
     Oh, don't mind me, I beg you. I'm quite used to the  general atmosphere
of this backwoods country by now.

     A pause. The Man In Black turns slowly and looks De Maisse in the eye.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     What do you mean, exactly?

     DE MAISSE
     Please, sir, do not speak directly into my face.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     (taunting him)
     Oh? And why not, may I ask?

     DE MAISSE
     Your breath, sir, stinks  most abominably.  You should rinse your mouth
with salt water once in a while.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     (furious)
     Don't tell me what to do, you French faggot!

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Robert, please. I'm sorry, De Maisse, he....

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     (incensed)
     I will not have foreigners fling insults at me.  I've had one hell of a
week, I'm tired, and  this frog-eater here has the nerve to criticize me! If
he doesn't like the way my breath smells, maybe he should smell his own  ass
once in a while....

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Robert!

     The Man In Black falls silent. De Maisse raises his eyebrows in genteel
surprise.

     Now, they have.... De Maisse! Are you listening?

     DE MAISSE
     Yes, Madam.

     Turns his head to her politely.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     They have a performance here tonight, so why don't we....

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     (on an impulse)
     Why don't I just run him through, then.

     He draws his sword. De Maisse steps back calmly and draws his.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Gentlemen.

     DE MAISSE
     Be  at  your  ease,  Madame, this  shall  not  take long.  C'est  bien,
Monsieur.
     (throws himself on guard)
     Vive la France!

     They cross swords.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Robert,  I'll  pardon  old Warwick and exile you if you don't  stop  at
once. De  Maisse, I'll  find out from Henri your king who your current lover
is and have him killed.

     They touch their swords a  few more  times reluctantly, think better of
it,  and  stop. The Man In Black sheathes  his sword disgustedly. De  Maisse
tries  the point  of his sword with  his  finger pensively,  hesitates,  but
sheathes it all the same.

     Enter Julian carrying a scroll.

     Ah, hello there.

     JULIAN
     Your Majesty. Here's the bill of sale you requested.

     The Woman In Black takes it from him, inspects it, passes it to the Man
In Black.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Robert,  when  you  have  the chance, give this  to the person in whose
rooms you made such a hysterical scene today.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Er.... Madam.... I haven't had a chance to speak with him yet.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Why would you want to speak with him?

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Well,  we  can't  just  give him  everything  without  requesting  some
services in return.  With Chris gone, and until we find someone suitable, we
might as well use his friend in the interim.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     I don't think that such a good  idea. He' not competent enough in these
matters.  I  believe he'll be far more  useful  to us  as  merely a  theatre
manager and a writer of plays.
     (to Julian)
     My good man,  you are, I believe, a servant of some sort in the duchess
of Mulberry's House, in a way?

     JULIAN
     I do have the honor of....

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     The theatre seems to have been occupying most of your time lately.

     JULIAN
     That is correct, Your Majesty.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     But you are not a city person?

     JULIAN
     No, Your Majesty. I am a farmer.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     I appreciate your cooperation. The Duchess will be very angry with you,
I'm afraid.

     JULIAN
     Your Majesty promised me your protection.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     I never go back on my word.  As of today, you no longer belong  to  the
Duchess. You will serve the throne  directly. On Jolly Riggers Street, there
is a house with a slanting red roof. Do you know it?

     Julian shudders  and  is  reluctant  to answer, seeing  where  this  is
leading.

     Well, do you?

     JULIAN
     I do, Your Majesty.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Go there  now. You'll be given an  advance and shown around.  They will
supply your instructions sometime next week.

     JULIAN
     (quivering)
     Your Majesty, that is not what I was hoping for.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Maybe not. It's what you're getting, nevertheless.

     JULIAN
     Oh, no. I couldn't.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     That's enough talking now. Go and do as you're told.

     JULIAN
     Please, Your Majesty, hear me out. I feel....

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     (a bit of temper showing)
     I'm not going to be talked back by you, little man! Do you hear?
     (calmly)
     Nor am I particularly interested in your feelings.

     JULIAN
     (quivering)
     Your Majesty, I'm much honored, but I must refuse.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     (sweetly)
     Would you rather be broken on the wheel?

     The Man In Black grins. De Maisse is watching with great curiosity.

     JULIAN
     But.... Oh, please have pity on me, Your Majesty!...

     He falls on his knees.

     I have a wife and four kids. I'm a simple farmer.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     The more  reason for you  to join the Service. Believe me,  it's not as
bad as it seems at first. The pay is good. Much  better than the income of a
farmer. Up with you, and go away now.

     Julian rises and exits stage-left.

     Insolent little wretch. De  Maisse, is this kind  of thing tolerated in
France?

     DE MAISSE
     No, Your Majesty. People of low order are not allowed to speak to their
superiors unless they are specifically commanded to do so.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     A very wise rule. We will see whether we can implement it here. England
has always been too liberal.  Ever since  John  signed the Magna Carta. I'll
see whether I can tear the damn thing up and throw the pieces in their faces
one of these days.

     Enter Joanne.

     JOANNE
     Your Majesty!

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Good afternoon, Duchess. Robert, stop  glaring  at De Maisse. Go have a
drink. I'll see you at the theatre tonight.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Your Majesty....

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Go, I said.

     The Man In Black wavers; presently, throwing another threatening glance
at De Maisse, he turns on his heel and leaves.

     Now, my dear De  Maisse, let me  introduce you. This is Lady  Mulberry.
Duchess, De Maisse here is King Henri's embassador.

     De Maisse bows and kisses Joanne's proffered hand gallantly.

     JOANNE
     Very  pleased to  meet  you,  Monsieur.  Your Majesty, I  just  learned
something utterly devastating. The Blackfriars....

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Yes, Robert bought  it  in my name from the  owner. I intend to  make a
gift of it  to someone whose work I happen to admire. I'm  sorry if this  is
unpleasant, although I can't imagine why.

     JOANNE
     Your Majesty, I.... was rather.... fond of that particular theatre.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     You may go on being fond of it, there's no low against it as yet.

     JOANNE
     The present troupe of actors, I thought, was especially capable.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Most of them will be retained by the company, I believe.

     JOANNE
     The choice of plays....

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Yes, that will  have to change. Monsieur De Maisse here was  astonished
when he familiarized himself with the repertoire. Weren't you, De Maisse?

     DE MAISSE
     (protesting)
     Your Majesty....

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     He was particularly puzzled by  the fact that so many ancient, outdated
works are  being put  on which fail to attract anyone except people from out
of town.

     JOANNE
     But tonight....

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Yes, tonight they're performing a new piece by a  well-known  idiot who
thinks he  can imitate ancient Greeks.  The new management will do away with
this kind of nonsense. It's a shame that the only good play produced by  the
company  over the  past  five years  was Tambulaine  The Great.  Its  author
happens  to be  a man of considerable talent, and I'm surprised,  and so  is
Monsieur De Maisse here, that the old management made  no  effort to solicit
more plays from him despite the fact that he is, I believe, a frequent guest
at the house of one of the company's principles.

     A pause.

     JOANNE
     The.... author?

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     I believe  he  was,  still is,  perhaps,  on  intimate  terms  with the
daughter of the said principle.

     Joanne is wide-eyed.

     DE MAISSE
     (recovering his composure)
     How very amusing.  You know, Your  Majesty, it's the little things like
this  that  make  this country appealing. Makes one feel as though he were a
character in a play. Ah, England!

     JOANNE
     Your Majesty, I  beseech you.... You have the power to reverse this....
Please give the old management another chance.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     By  the  way, Duchess.  A certain  person  dedicated  a  sonnet to  you
recently. This person turned  out  to be  a  vile  conspirator  and  they're
looking for  him  now in  order to arrest him. Do  you have  any idea of his
whereabouts?
     (turns to De Maisse)
     Imagine, my dear  De  Maisse,  the  turpid  creature wants to make this
venerable woman his mistress.

     DE MAISSE
     (looking skeptically at Joanne)
     Well, Madame, he must be  a  very queer  person.... Not  that the  lady
isn't quite admirable in certain respects. She is. But....

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     (sternly)
     She's married, De Maisse. I know that in France this wouldn't amount to
much, but here we are rather strict about marriage.

     De Maisse smiles. The Woman In Black continues lightly.

     The sonnet was, in  fact, quite beautiful, which brings up the question
of its true authorship. The  Duchess,  not being an expert in these matters,
was quite taken in.

     De Maisse laughs.

     In fact,  certain elements of  its style makes one want  to talk to the
new manager of the Blackfriars. The man is known to receive commissions  for
sonnets occasionally which are subsequently passed  by those who  commission
them as  their  own. A vile practice, but the man has been hard up for money
all his  life. Well, the company he now owns will set that  right. Oh, look,
there's a rat.

     Joanne panics and throws herself on De Maisse's neck.

     JOANNE
     Oh, sir! Please do something! I can't stand rats!

     De Maisse is astonished.

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Calm down, Duchess. I see it's running the other way. It's gone.


     JOANNE
     (releasing De Maisse)
     Pardon  me,  sir.  Rats will  be  my  death  one  of  these  days. Your
Majesty....

     THE WOMAN IN BLACK
     Good afternoon, Duchess. Monsieur, let me  show you the Bankside,  it's
quite beautiful at this time of day.

     The Woman In Black leads the way stage-right. De Maisse follows her. He
glances  back  at the  Duchess,  giggles.  They  are  gone. Joanne,  shaken,
crushed, stares in front of herself.

     A pause.

     Stage-right, enter Chris. He looks  pensive.  His  head is tilted back,
his lips are moving slowly, mouthing inaudible words. He walks slowly across
the  stage and  passes  Joanne without  noticing her. She is  still staring,
still transfixed. Half-way to the exit,  Chris stops  and  bends, removing a
shoe. He squats  and hits the shoe against the ground several times,  trying
to extricate whatever it is that was bothering him just now. He straightens,
puts the shoe back on. He makes an uncertain gesture with  his hand,  passes
his palm over his forehead, walks on and exits stage-left.

     A pause.

     Stage-right, enter Lionel and Betsy.

     BETSY
     What's the rush?

     LIONEL
     We  have to find Chris and warn him. Don't you understand?  His life is
in danger.

     BETSY
     How?

     Lionel  waves her off impatiently. At this  point, Joanne jerks herself
out of her coma and turns around.

     JOANNE
     Hey!

     They look at her.

     BETSY
     Mother!

     LIONEL
     (resignedly)
     Oh, no.

     JOANNE
     Lionel, I'm so sorry.

     LIONEL
     Why, what's the matter?... Er.... Did you see Chris?

     JOANNE
     Lionel, they've blackmailed Julian  into selling out.  But don't worry,
we'll buy another company. It may not be tomorrow, but in a month or two....

     LIONEL
     What was that?

     JOANNE
     There's a new owner now. They'll be producing a lot of trash, it seems.
But don't worry; I'll  see to it that  your reputation  stays intact. You'll
have a new theatre soon.

     BETSY
     Mother, I'm sorry.

     JOANNE
     So am I, Betsy. The best theatre in town!

     LIONEL
     It's all right, Duchess, you need not worry on my account.

     JOANNE
     Oh, Lionel....

     LIONEL
     I can take care of myself. Incidentally, who is the new owner?

     JOANNE
     Oh,  what  difference  does  it   make?...   I  can't   remember.  Lord
Chamberlain's Men, I think....

     BETSY
     Lord Chamberlain's!

     LIONEL
     (turns to Betsy, smiling faintly)
     Fate.

     BETSY
     (with conviction)
     Providence.

     JOANNE
     There's no question, of course, of your staying on with them. I'm going
to arrange everything.

     LIONEL
     No need, Duchess. As a matter of fact, I am staying on with them.

     JOANNE
     (stunned)
     Lionel!

     LIONEL
     I  must grow  as an  actor.  Leads  who stop growing soon  fall out  of
fashion.

     JOANNE
     Lionel, what are you talking about? You're not going to debase yourself
by participating in their stupid farces. Tell me you're joking.

     LIONEL
     We must find Chris. Duchess....

     JOANNE
     (moving towards him)
     Ungrateful  rat! This  is your  gratitude! After all I've done for you,
you just dump me like so much trash!

     BETSY
     I'd better run. She's going to make a scene.

     LIONEL
     Betsy, we must....

     JOANNE
     (thundering)
     I'm going to strangle you with my own hands!

     BETSY
     Chris is perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

     Joanne  goes for  Lionel's  throat.  He tries  to  shake her off. Betsy
shakes  her  head  in  cold  amazement.  Stage-left,  enter  Chris  running,
frightened,  looking over his shoulder. Betsy  looks, sees, turns to Lionel,
who is holding Joanne by the wrists.

     You wanted Chris. Here he is.

     CHRIS
     Betsy!

     He looks over his shoulder. Lionel releases Joanne.

     JOANNE
     Filthy snake!

     Chris runs up to Betsy.

     CHRIS
     Betsy, now's the time. Are you ready?

     BETSY
     (annoyed)
     Ready for what?

     CHRIS
     We must leave. Immediately.

     JOANNE
     (to Lionel)
     You're not a man, Lionel. You're a monster.

     LIONEL
     (to Chris)
     What the hell happened? You look like you just saw a ghost.

     BETSY
     I'm sorry, Chris. I'm not going anywhere.

     JOANNE
     (to Lionel)
     Take it all back. Everything you just said.

     CHRIS
     Betsy!

     LIONEL
     (to Chris)
     Listen, Chris....

     Joanne slaps him across the face.

     LIONEL
     Ouch!

     BETSY
     (annoyed and feeling guilty)
     Mother, will you  please behave  yourself! This is a public  place, for
crying out loud!

     CHRIS
     Do you mean that?....

     BETSY
     I'm sorry, Chris. I suppose I've betrayed you.

     LIONEL
     Chris, you must run, they're after you.

     CHRIS
     (to Betsy)
     What's the matter? Have I offended you?

     Betsy turns away impatiently.

     JOANNE
     (to Lionel)
     You stupid creep!

     LIONEL
     Chris, did you hear what I just said?

     Joanne  makes another attempt to strike him. He  catches  her wrist and
roars at her.

     Shut up!

     She is so astonished, she freezes and stares at him. He turns to Betsy.

     You too!

     Betsy draws back. The floor is his. He turns to Chris.

     Lord Warwick is  on  his way to France  and beyond anyone's reach. They
suspect  you  of  high treason. Whether it was really you who  warned him is
unimportant. They want your  head,  and  they'll get it unless you act  now.
Leave. Immediately. Stay  off major highways. On  your  way  to the Channel,
don't speak to anyone. If anyone calls out to you, don't answer. Decline all
offers  to  share a  meal. Don't stop anywhere until  you  reach France.  My
regards to old Warwick.

     CHRIS
     (the truth dawns on him)
     You!

     LIONEL
     Yes.

     CHRIS
     But.... It seems to  me,  sir, that you're not doing anything different
from what I did. You're betraying your trust.

     LIONEL
     I'm allowed.  So would be Robert if  he  wished to let someone  off the
hook.  Our rank is higher than yours, that's  all.  I can't  stop them  from
chasing you. But I can tell you to take precautions.

     CHRIS
     Why can't you stop them?

     LIONEL
     Because the chase was ordered by the highest authority possible.

     CHRIS
     (desperate)
     No! The Great Bitch?

     LIONEL
     Yes.

     CHRIS
     I thought Robert bore me a grudge.

     LIONEL
     He does. But  so does she, and her grudge seems to be even greater than
his. And she  knows how to bear  grudges,  believe me. The odds are  against
you. The sooner you clear out, the better.

     CHRIS
     Betsy....

     LIONEL
     Forget it, Chris. Be a man. She never really loved you.

     BETSY
     (turns to him, furious)
     How dare you!

     Stage-right, enter William.

     WILLIAM
     Ah, Chris! Oh, look who's here.... Everybody.

     Betsy steps towards him quickly.

     BETSY
     Who was that woman? Is she gone?

     WILLIAM
     Oh. It's you. Yes. Er.... Chris?...

     BETSY
     Wait. What have you decided?

     WILLIAM
     About what?
     (to Chris)
     Look, I  don't know whether  it's going to improve  or worsen anything,
but I've spoken with someone about you....

     Chris clutches his head and moans.

     CHRIS
     This is a nightmare. Wobbly, why are you involved in this?

     WILLIAM
     Me? I don't know that I'm particularly involved in anything.... I....

     LIONEL
     He's not involved. At least not yet. Chris?

     CHRIS
     Yes?

     LIONEL
     There's  one thing  I'm sure of. So long as your friend here is around,
no one will dare touch you. He's under special protection. I have to talk to
this lady here. Let's meet at the inn after the performance.  I'll  give you
all you'll need to make it safe to France.

     CHRIS
     Lionel....

     LIONEL
     Please,  take your friends  someplace, have  a  snack,  and come to the
theatre. We'll be doing  this pseudo-Greek nonsense tonight,  you don't want
to miss it, do you? Master William, I look forward to being directed by you.

     William is baffled,  and Betsy overwhelmed.  Chris is  decided. He nods
and leads his friends away. Lionel turns to Joanne.

     LIONEL
     Now, Duchess....

     JOANNE
     Who are you, Lionel Collins? That's not your real name, is it?

     LIONEL
     What difference  does it make? Now,  make sure you don't breathe a word
of  what you've  just  heard here.  Master William is a  capable man, and he
writes brilliant plays.

     JOANNE
     I  see.  It still  comes down  to the same  thing.  You don't  need  me
anymore.

     LIONEL
     I didn't say that.

     JOANNE
     You meant it.

     LIONEL
     No.

     He smiles. Her eyes widen. She steps back.

     You know, Duchess, you shouldn't have slapped  me so hard. Now my cheek
will  blow up to an  absurd size. How  am I suppose  to act with a cheek the
size of your buttock?

     JOANNE
     Lionel.... What are you doing?

     He steps towards her. He takes her by the shoulders.

     LIONEL
     We  go on as usual.  You'll still see  me  in all my  shows, and  we'll
remain lovers for as long as you wish.

     JOANNE
     But.... Why?

     LIONEL
     I'm kind of fond of you, that's all.

     He runs his hand through her hair.

     JOANNE
     Now wait a  minute.... I'm so confused all of a sudden. You're a member
of the Secret Service, is that it?

     LIONEL
     No more and no less.

     JOANNE
     Acting is only a front.

     LIONEL
     I wouldn't put it that way. I adore acting, and I think I'm rather good
at it. Don't you think I'm rather good at it?

     JOANNE
     You're magnificent at it.

     LIONEL
     Your understatements are  beginning to annoy me, but  fine, I'll accept
magnificent. Anyway, why don't we go to your place and spend these few hours
together? And then go to the theatre?

     JOANNE
     (suddenly smiling and inclining her head slyly)
     Suppose we're late for the performance?

     LIONEL
     (indignantly)
     Do you imagine they'll dare begin without me?

     She laughs. He smiles, kisses her on  the lips. She returns  the  kiss.
Curtain.

     Scene  Two.  A  cheap sort of inn. A table in  the middle,  with chairs
around it. On the table, a pitcher  and three clay mugs. The Man In Black is
sitting at the table,  sipping ale from a large crude mug. Stage-left, enter
Lionel, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief.

     LIONEL
     Robert. What are you doing here?

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Meditating. Are you done clowning?

     LIONEL
     Quite. They're still  cheering like mad. Most of  them are  out-of-town
merchants;  never saw a  theatrical performance  before.  The piece is sheer
nonsense. Takes more  than that to lure the average Londoner into the place.
This will change when the new owner assumes his  duties. He hasn't been told
yet, poor devil.

     He sits down, pours himself a mugful from the pitcher.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Was the Queen present?

     LIONEL
     Yes.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Did you speak with her?

     LIONEL
     Yes, and  she  promised to  recompense you for whatever loss you  think
you've suffered because of your uncle.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     (rising)
     Well, I'd better go. By the way, are you going to dump your Duchess?

     A pause.

     LIONEL
     Why does this interest you?

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Now that my uncle is gone, she can no longer be of any use to us.

     LIONEL
     (smiling)
     I see. You  know,  this constant  urge you have  to  do  your uncle one
better  is an  intolerable bore. Why  is it that you absolutely must succeed
where he has failed? Why don't you try acting or playwrighting instead?

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     You're keeping her, then?

     LIONEL
     I can't very well do that; the lady's married.

     A pause.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     (fraternizing)
     Well, if the husband is the only obstacle, why not do away with him?

     A pause.

     LIONEL
     (nonchalantly)
     My  dear  Robert,  what a  low-born  creature  like yourself  may  deem
appropriate is not always so for a man of my birth and position.
     (sternly)
     Please stop meddling in my affairs.
     (casually)
     I'm expecting some friends. Would you mind very much if I  asked you to
leave?

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     (furious, humiliated; almost whispers)
     Yes, Duke.

     Lionel  smiles contemptuously. The  Man In Black turns around and exits
stage-left. Lionel sips from his mug.

     Off-stage, loud merriment. Enter Chris and William. Chris is carrying a
guitar; he is slightly drunk. They are followed in by Betsy who is laughing.

     CHRIS
     What a  piece!  The author must be a  genius. Don't  you  think he's  a
genius? Wobbly?

     WILLIAM
     (frowning)
     How did that line go?
     (suddenly giggles)

     CHRIS
     Oh,  I  don't know.  Hi, Lionel.  Let me  see.  Oh  my  most  beautiful
bodacious mermaid! I, standing on my gouty knees before you.... Wobbly?

     WILLIAM
     Declare that you must soon accept my offer
     Of marriage, otherwise I'll puke profusely.

     CHRIS
     Accept, o gorgeous, all I have to offer....

     WILLIAM
     My castle, land, myself and my six inches....

     CHRIS
     Or else I'm liable loudly to fart.

     Both laugh. Betsy, blushing, is trying not to. Lionel smiles.

     LIONEL
     Nice instrument.

     CHRIS
     A real  Spanish guitar,  man! Just bought it off a  Spanish journeyman.
Boy, do those Castilians smell! Listen, I haven't played in ages. In fact, I
don't  remember  playing since my last trip to  Spain. Seven  years ago! Get
that shit off the table, or I'll spill it.

     Lionel  removes the pitcher, placing it on the floor. Chris sits on the
edge of the  table. William  sits in one of the chairs, Betsy stands next to
it. Chris tries the strings.

     A bit out of tune. Let me see.

     He tries a few chords, satisfying himself that he still can.

     Now, listen to this. Ahem. The Ballad Of An Author Making  Up His Mind.
Now, I want everyone's attention here.

     WILLIAM
     Just don't fall over.

     CHRIS
     Never fear, old man! Listen, all.
     (sings, accompanying himself on the guitar)
     I have two girls who run my show,
     And Bill has none.
     Bess was born high and Joe Anne low,
     And both are fun,

     Yet Billy claims a lighter load
     Is easier packed:
     His Mary Jane minds his abode
     But not his act.

     Where Bess is subtle and astute,
     Joe Anne is straight.
     Yet they share traits which, saint or brute,
     One learns to hate:

     Their merits differ but, alas,
     Their faults concur;
     For each time Bess falls on her ass,
     Joe Anne must err.

     My name is Chris, and I know this
     (And you'll agree):
     Though I can't say that Billy's way
     Appeals to me,

     Scorned by Joe Anne and vilified
     By haughty Bess,
     One day I might give it a try
     Nevertheless.

     He plays  a  few  chords,  stops.  He jumps  off the table and, turning
around, bows to his audience. William and Lionel applaud. Betsy is pensive.

     WILLIAM
     I've always said you're ore of a minstrel than a playwright. Good song,
though.

     CHRIS
     Your  problem, Wobbly,  is  that you're  not  at all musical. A typical
Englishman is not supposed to be musical, in fact.

     William shrugs, smiles crookedly. Suddenly, he remembers.

     WILLIAM
     By the way, Lionel, permit me to....

     LIONEL
     No need, sir. The play was  lousy.  I don't like  congratulations  that
sound like, well, commiserations. Now, Chris.

     Lionel reaches into his pocket and produces a bundle of scrolls.

     Here are some maps and instructions. All easy to follow.

     CHRIS
     (sobering up)
     Thank you.

     He takes the bundle, twirls it in his hands pensively, stuffs it in his
pocket and becomes morose.

     LIONEL
     France is as good a place as any, I suppose.

     WILLIAM
     (frowning at Chris)
     France? You are going there, after all?

     CHRIS
     Yes. I need a vacation. Such  is my opinion, and also, I hope, that  of
my close  friends and relatives. Listen, Wobbly, you  take care of yourself,
all right? And especially of her.

     BETSY
     Now, Chris!...

     CHRIS
     Do not interrupt me,  Betsy. Whatever may happen to you,  Wobbly, don't
ever think that you can start all over again. Clean slate my ass. Writers do
not earn bad reputations, they  are  born with them. No  one will ever trust
you  or  take you seriously. Except  her. Funny, but she  has  that quality.
She's the real thing, Wobbly.  When I found out, it was too late.  I met her
too early, when she was still unformed, an  affected little Philistine  with
crazy  ideas and  ugly teeth; full of  complexes. From start to  finish, our
affair  was one  unending caprice. And listen, man, I.... never really liked
you, but.... Ah, shit, I need a drink.

     Enter De Maisse.

     DE MAISSE
     Good evening, gentlemen.  My lady, your servant. Now, is Master William
here by any chance?

     CHRIS
     I'm tired of this fellow.

     WILLIAM
     Now, Chris,  let me clarify a few things for you. First,  I haven't the
slightest intention....

     DE MAISSE
     Now, Her Majesty, in order to  express her extreme appreciation of your
works, sir, would like to offer you a present.

     CHRIS
     Good for her. To me, she only offered a past.

     DE MAISSE
     (producing a scroll)
     This  document is to confirm that as of today, you are the owner of the
Blackfriars theatre. Her Majesty would like you to come  with me immediately
to claim it. Please.

     Betsy opens her mouth. Lionel smiles. Chris frowns.

     WILLIAM
     I see. Thank you.
     (accepts the scroll absentmindedly)
     Now,  Chris,  the  important  thing is, I  think I  could  persuade Her
Majesty....

     CHRIS
     Wobbly....

     WILLIAM
     She could still pardon you.

     De Maisse is astonished. Chris shakes his head.

     CHRIS
     The Great Bitch? Not in  a  thousand  years,  Wobbly.  These capricious
broads, once they get past a certain age, are so vindictive and vain they'll
sell their mother to the devil to see you cringe.

     DE MAISSE
     Master William....

     WILLIAM
     Just a minute. Now, Chris, you don't understand....

     LIONEL
     Master William, I think  you should thank the gentleman who brought you
the good news.

     WILLIAM
     Yeah, all right....

     BETSY
     I think....

     CHRIS
     Forget  it, Wobbly.  Just  thank this faggot  here  and  go  meet  your
destiny. Whatever  you  do, though,  keep your gratitude to  yourself. Don't
waste it on the Great Bitch, she's not worth it.

     WILLIAM
     Chris, you'll be pardoned before long. As a matter of fact....

     CHRIS
     Pardoned. What am I guilty of?

     WILLIAM
     You'll  see, Chris.  The Queen likes  you. She'll  tell you so herself,
you'll see. Even tonight. In writing.
     (to De Maisse)
     Sir, I'm ready.

     De Maisse shrugs, leads the way. He  and William exit stage-left. Betsy
looks after them. Chris looks at her, smiling ruefully.

     CHRIS
     Well?

     BETSY
     Chris, you're a wonderful person....

     CHRIS
     Please. Don't. You want to be with him? Go. Go, Betsy.

     She hesitates,  looks at Lionel.  Lionel  smiles  and  nods.  She rises
reluctantly. Suddenly, she dashes out.

     LIONEL
     Curious fellow.

     CHRIS
     Who?

     LIONEL
     Master William. Anyway, why don't you explain to me why you had to warn
old Warwick? Is he a good person?

     CHRIS
     Warwick? The man's the meanest son of a bitch I ever met.

     LIONEL
     Was it gratitude, then?

     CHRIS
     Gratitude?

     LIONEL
     I believe he financed one of your publications once.

     CHRIS
     That was part of the bargain. He  was going to  seduce some duchess  or
other;  he asked me to write him a  sonnet for her, so that he could send it
to her as  his own. Which I  did, but only after I made  sure  the press was
already running.  Warwick is  stingy  as hell, and  the last person one  can
trust. Not what you'd call a charitable person.

     LIONEL
     Do you remember the sonnet?

     CHRIS
     Some of it.

     LIONEL
     How did it go?

     CHRIS
     Oh, who cares. ....I used Wobbly's favorite rhyme scheme. A bit boring,
but serves the purpose well.

     LIONEL
     So why did you have to go and warn Warwick?

     CHRIS
     Lionel, what's the matter with you? It was in my  power to save him, so
I just went ahead and did it. How difficult is this to understand?

     A pause.

     LIONEL
     I see. Well, I have news for you.

     He  reaches  into  his  pocket  and  produces a  scroll.  He throws  it
nonchalantly on the table. Chris looks askance at him.

     Break the seal and read it. It's for you.

     Chris does so. He squints, holds the scroll close to  his face. He sets
it  down on the  table,  wipes his forehead,  brings the scroll close to his
face again.

     You're nearsighted, aren't you?

     CHRIS
     This says that the Queen grants me her pardon.

     LIONEL
     That's correct.

     CHRIS
     I am forgiven, then?

     LIONEL
     Unless some new evidence turns up, you're free to do whatever you like.
They've made an exception for you. You may consider yourself a member of the
Secret Service no longer.

     Chris rises. He is very pale. The hand which is  holding the manuscript
is shaking. He steadies it by pressing the scroll to his chest.

     CHRIS
     I can't believe this.

     LIONEL
     There will be no new evidence, I trust. Or am I wrong?

     Chris  is  about  to say something. He  inhales deeply  and  holds  his
tongue.

     If I were you, I'd still go abroad for a while. Let this whole  Warwick
business  blow over and settle. Make sure you come back with at least  three
new plays, and make sure there are major parts for me in all three of them.

     Chris smiles faintly.

     CHRIS
     I  can't  fucking  believe  this.... I.... How  come  you're  an actor,
Lionel?

     LIONEL
     (laughs)
     You should  know these things, Chris. You're a writer. Man shall always
seek that which he does not possess. How come you're a nobleman?

     CHRIS
     I?

     LIONEL
     Yes, the son of a  shoemaker. The Service. That's why you joined in the
first place. You knew that sooner or later your plays would be produced. But
nobility  papers  - no fame and no money could  buy you  that.  The  Service
granted  you your little title; it  granted me  the opportunity  to  do that
which I adore doing. A duke  cannot  possibly join a theatre company without
making a laughingstock of himself.  But a Service man can become anything on
earth,  and  everyone minds his  own business  in the meantime. We were both
stuck  for a while.  On  your  part,  you  have  somehow found your way out.
Myself, I'm pretty much doomed. But I have what I want. I'm an actor.

     He rises. Chris sits.

     I'm going to join the  festivities.  Your  friend is being crowned  the
king of clowns. I'd advise you not to appear there now.  Leave. Just pick up
and  go. You'll  get all the money you want from  Warwick. See you in  three
years, son of a shoemaker.

     He leaves quickly stage-left. Chris bends  over the table, clutches his
head. A pause.

     Stage-right, enter the Man In Black.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Christopher.

     Chris shudders, stares in front of himself.

     The time of reckoning has come. Don't move.

     He goes around the table and sits beside Chris.

     CHRIS
     I have Her Majesty's pardon.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     You have my permission to shove  it  up your ass.  Go ahead, I'll wait.
No? Well. A friend of yours has been arrested.

     CHRIS
     What friend?

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     His surname is Kyd. Also a playwright of sorts.

     Chris stares.

     It  seems,  from the evidence he has provided, that  my  dear old uncle
wasn't the first person who escaped  justice thanks to your  -  how should I
put it? - endeavors.

     CHRIS
     You tortured him!

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     The Kyd person? Sure. You wouldn't believe how  little it takes to push
a  human being  past his natural limits. The Great Inquisitor has nothing on
us, trust me. It seems, Christopher, that  it's almost a passion with you to
save lives.  What are you trying  to do, gain a free passage to  Paradise? I
would have expected a better taste from  a man of letters in fact. You don't
discriminate. I've  looked over  the list  of  criminals wondering at  large
thanks  to your efforts. Goodness gracious!  Dukes and peasants,  peers  and
commoners, state treasury  embezzlers and horse-thieves, Jews converted  and
otherwise, protestants, Catholics,  baronesses  and  prostitutes, a vagabond
Spanish fiddler, an Italian prince. Mere seven years! Awesome.

     A pause. The Man In Black's gaze becomes reflective.

     At first, I thought of presenting the Queen with the list, just to show
her whom it was she  was pardoning.  Then I  thought better of it. Women are
capricious, you know. She  might pardon you  again. We can't have  that now,
can we?

     He slaps  Chris across the  face. The blow is hard enough to take Chris
out of  the chair. He staggers  but remains  on his  feet.  The Man In Black
rises heavily and faces Chris.

     I'm off to France.  I  can't entrust this business to  anyone  else. My
dear old uncle must die.  But I couldn't bear the thought of leaving without
settling  the score  with you, Christopher. Do  you have  any idea how  much
humiliation your charity has caused me?

     He slaps Chris again. Chris backs away. The Man In Black catches him by
the neck and holds him in front of himself at his arm's length.

     Vagabond players talking back to me! I could have been duke  two months
ago!

     He shoves Chris on the floor. He kicks him. Chris crawls away from him.

     My uncle married the girl I loved. Fine! Let him keep it. I proposed to
another  girl. I didn't love  her. But she was of high birth, and her father
had millions. I was refused by her father, whose wife my uncle was trying to
seduce at the moment! She said I wasn't sufficiently well-bred!

     CHRIS
     Betsy.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Yes. Betsy.  Lionel sleeps with her mother. Suddenly  I found  out that
you, of all people, are the daughter's lover!

     CHRIS
     Wait a minute!

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Shut up!

     His kick misses. Chris manages  to crawl  away  in  time. Now he rises,
holding his side.

     CHRIS
     You're not marrying Betsy.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     If he refuses me a second time, when I'm a duke, I'll just do away with
him. I'm sick  and  tired of  all these little warms  of no consequence with
handles to their names! And I'm tired of you, Christopher.

     He draws his sword. Chris jumps back.

     Don't run away from me, Chris. You know it's useless.

     Chris draws his own sword and throws himself clumsily on guard. The Man
In Black laughs.

     You wish to do some fencing, I see.

     CHRIS
     You are not marrying Betsy, Robert.

     THE MAN IN BLACK
     Put that sword away, Christopher. You know you can't fence.

     He lunges forward. Chris backs away in a circular manner, swinging  his
sword wildly. The  Man In Black chuckles and presses. It  is evident that he
is only  playing with Chris. An ominous smile is on his lips. They go around
the  table.  Chris tries to pull the  chair  between them. The Man In  Black
kicks the  chair away. He makes  a  thrust. Chris  jumps back, swinging  his
sword.

     Curtain.

     Scene three. The plaza in front of the Blackfriars. Lit torches.

     The Woman In Black, now brilliantly attired in light colors and without
a mask, is at  last  frankly and unmistakably the  Queen.  She  is  chatting
pleasantly with De Maisse.

     THE QUEEN
     I assure you, my dear Monsieur De Maisse, there's nothing unusual about
it. It is simply one of our  traditions. Women do not become players in this
country - simple as that.

     DE MAISSE
     But  surely this  doesn't  strike anyone as strange? Any country has  a
number  of conventions; and the  French  are  no  better than anyone else, I
suppose. But this! I mean, people must feel that something is wrong. Unless,
of course, there aren't many theatre goers here.

     THE QUEEN
     Most Londoners are theatre goers. Our national pastime, you know.

     DE MAISSE
     Well, I'm sorry, Your Majesty.  It's just.... Unnatural! I  just  can't
believe that they all take it as a matter of course, especially the women.

     THE QUEEN
     Sure they do. You may ask anyone. There's someone coming - ask her.

     Stage-right, enter Anne. She intends  to pass by  them  when  De Maisse
stops her.

     DE MAISSE
     My dear girl.

     Anne  who,  at her age, is not used  to be  addressed in this  fashion,
stops and turns slowly, a faint smile playing on her lips.

     ANNE
     I'm sorry. Did you just call me your dear girl?

     DE MAISSE
     Well, yes.

     Anne  laughs. The  Queen smiles. De Maisse, refusing to  see the  joke,
frowns and fingers his moustache.

     ANNE
     Well?

     DE MAISSE
     Doesn't it strike you as very odd that only men are employed by theatre
companies?

     Anne  has to  think  about  this.  The Queen looks  triumphantly at  De
Maisse.

     ANNE
     What do you mean exactly, sir?

     DE MAISSE
     Well, you know. Men playing female parts. Don't you find that strange?

     ANNE
     Oh. But that's just one of the  conventions. That's how theatre is. You
aren't from around here, are you?

     She seems to be amused if not outright patronizing.

     DE MAISSE
     No. I'm sorry. I press my question. The particular convention of having
men play female parts; you don't find anything wrong with it?

     ANNE
     Well, from the purely logical point  of you, there's plenty wrong  with
it. But theatre is neither logical nor pure. For instance.... Well, have you
ever been to a theatre?

     DE MAISSE
     Yes.

     ANNE
     Well, then. For instance, there's always  the boy  who runs out between
the scenes carrying a sign. It says on the sign where the next bit of action
is going to take place.  Like, it's  a forest, or a castle, or riverbank, as
the case might be. But the stage is still the stage. You don't actually  see
the  forest,  or  the castle, just imagine that they're  there.  Or,  if you
actually listen to what the players say - it's all blank verse. People don't
speak like  that. Yet  it's taken  for granted  that characters in plays all
speak like that. Same  with the rest. Theatre is an  art  form, and like any
other art form, it must have its boundaries and, well, conventions. Take one
away, and it won't be theatre anymore. See what I mean?

     The Queen is so impressed by Anne's soundness of judgement and sense of
logic that she draws forth and says,

     THE QUEEN
     My dear, you seem to know a great deal about theatre.

     ANNE
     Well,  I've been married to  a playwright for quite a while  now,  so I
guess I ought to know a thing or two.

     DE MAISSE
     Oh! We'd better ask someone else, then. You're naturally too partial.

     THE QUEEN
     And is your husband a good playwright, dear?

     ANNE
     I think  he's rather good. Nothing  grand, you understand,  but  fairly
good.

     THE QUEEN
     Is he famous?

     ANNE
     (frowns)
     Famous? How can a playwright be famous?

     THE QUEEN
     Well, certainly Aristophanes is famous?

     ANNE
     Oh, but that's classics.  Aristophanes died more than  a thousand years
ago, didn't he?

     THE QUEEN
     What is your name, dear?

     ANNE
     Anne, Madam.

     THE QUEEN
     Your surname?

     DE MAISSE
     Madam, the Duchess.

     THE QUEEN
     Oh.

     Enter Joanne.

     JOANNE
     Madam....

     THE QUEEN
     Good evening, Duchess. Are you here for the festivities?

     JOANNE
     Festivities?

     DE MAISSE
     Her Majesty has  been generous enough to  pay for  the little  carnival
tonight, celebrating the new  owner's ascent. Masks  will be worn and scenes
from various plays will be recited.

     ANNE
     Ah! There's a new owner, then?

     JOANNE
     I'm not feeling well, Your....

     THE QUEEN
     Stay, Duchess. A friend of yours will no doubt wish to take part in the
festivities, especially in the recital part.

     DE MAISSE
     Oh, yes, Duchess. It's going to be most amusing.

     Enter Lionel and Betsy.

     LIONEL
     (sonorously)
     Ladies and  gentlemen!  Permit me  to introduce a  new  member of  Lord
Chamberlain's Men, Thomas Carlyle.

     The  Queen inclines  her head.  Anne looks with interest. Joanne nearly
faints. De Maisse rushes to her side and helps her remain on her feet.

     DE MAISSE
     Something has happened to the good Duchess. Duchess?

     JOANNE
     Lionel!

     LIONEL
     I give you my word of honor, Madam. It's perfectly all right.

     JOANNE
     Thomas Carlyle!

     BETSY
     I....

     LIONEL
     (quickly to Betsy)
     Go ahead.

     Betsy strikes a pose. The rest  of them form a semi-circle to the  left
of her, with De Maisse still assisting Joanne.

     BETSY
     O beautiful Adonis, come, my love,
     My idol who has robbed me of my peace,
     You are that which I have been dreaming of,
     My gift divine and rare, my sweet caprice.

     LIONEL
     The passion of this captivating creature
     Is irresistible; no man could bear
     Waiting a moment longer; every feature
     In her speaks of delight and tender care.

     BETSY
     If this be lust....

     She stops, seeing William enter stage-right. Lionel turns  around, sees
him two.

     LIONEL
     Ah. It would be only fair if we let the new owner open the festivities.
Your Majesty....

     THE QUEEN
     Duke. Please.

     LIONEL
     I'm sorry.

     ANNE
     William.

     She crosses over to him. Betsy makes a movement, Lionel holds her hand.

     WILLIAM
     Er.... Why is everyone looking at me?

     ANNE
     I'm afraid to think this.
     (looks over her shoulder at the others)
     I.... No. Hear for yourself, whatever it may be.

     LIONEL
     My  dear  Master  William, Her Majesty is  good enough to  make  you  a
present of  that little  hut  over there,  current  residents  included.  In
addition, I myself  congratulate  you most sincerely and hope that you still
remember your promise to accept me as a member of your company.

     WILLIAM
     Yes. I mean, thank you.

     ANNE
     (quietly)
     Oh, William. Go and thank the Queen.

     WILLIAM
     Anne....

     Betsy twists herself free and runs over to William.

     BETSY
     Master William, you must go and thank the Queen.

     ANNE
     (through her teeth)
     Are you his mistress?

     BETSY
     Whose?

     WILLIAM
     Thank the Queen. Yes. All right.  Anne, get a grip. Look at  her, she's
merely a child.

     ANNE
     (skeptically yet hopefully)
     You don't have a mistress, then?

     BETSY
     Master  William!  Madam, let him go and thank the  Queen first. You may
always figure out the rest later.

     WILLIAM
     (irritably)
     Of course I have a mistress. I thought we'd established that.

     Anne closes  her eyes, opens them, and pushes William towards the Queen
almost violently.
     William crosses the stage, stops in front of the Queen, bows.

     Your Majesty.... I  was  just  thinking. I'm very grateful,  of course.
Thanks a lot. I mean, real nice of you and all. But, you see.... a friend of
mine is in danger.

     The Queen makes an impatient  gesture. De  Maisse looks at her, than at
William. He seems to be amused.
     Enter Chris  dragging the corpse  of  the  Man In Black. He  crosses to
center  stage,  drops the corpse,  wipes his forehead with the back  of  his
hand.

     CHRIS
     Good  evening,  all. I hope I'm not too  late.  Ah, you haven't started
yet. Good.

     General consternation.

     WILLIAM
     Chris....

     CHRIS
     Yeah, Wobbly  man, this is, like, grand, right? You were about to thank
Her Majesty for everything she's done for you. Go ahead. Don't mind me.  You
were just  going  to speak of  gratitude and beauty  and  all. Beauty. We're
still pagans in this country. We worship beauty out of context.

     Lionel  makes  a  step  towards Chris.  De  Maisse and the Queen remain
standing, curious as  to what is going to happen next. Betsy is  frightened.
William is trying to rationalize what it is that is going on.

     CHRIS
     (to Lionel)
     Don't come near me, actor.

     BETSY
     Chris!

     CHRIS
     Ah, Betsy. You alone can sense it. Good girl. Not even Wobbly, with all
his  insight and talent and what all else can figure  this simple truth out.
Eh, Wobbly?

     THE QUEEN
     De Maisse,  please go and round up  the first guard squad you can find,
and bring them here.

     DE MAISSE
     Your Majesty....

     CHRIS
     No need, Madam. Think I'm going to escape?

     Betsy begins to cry.

     LIONEL
     Betsy. It's all right. Now, Chris....

     JOANNE
     I always knew he was a troublemaker.

     Chris straightens up and throws her a flaming glance.

     CHRIS
     Did you ever, Madam! How very observant of you. Yet the fact that I was
also a playwright failed to draw your attention  altogether. Strange,  isn't
it? For three years, your theatre company performed a play of mine. It never
occurred  to  you that  its author  was  head  over heels in  love with your
daughter.

     Betsy covers her face.

     Shut up, Betsy.

     BETSY
     Oh, Chris!

     CHRIS
     (drawing his sword)
     We serve the Great Bitch!

     William steps towards him, says quietly,

     WILLIAM
     Chris, come with me. We'll figure out a way to get you to France.

     CHRIS
     (laughs)
     France? Wobbly, don't be naive. Once the Great Bitch is angry with you,
it's  curtains.  My  only regret is that I must now die a murderer. I didn't
want to kill him! I  don't  even  know how to fence. He came to kill me.  So
that he could....

     He looks at Betsy, falls silent.

     WILLIAM
     Chris....

     CHRIS
     No false generosity, Wobbly. I have less than an hour to live. Let them
call  the guards, let them  sentence me to  torture. Ah, this  is freedom at
last. They don't have time to do anything to me.

     WILLIAM
     (quietly)
     Chris, you're mad. This is suicide. Shut up.

     CHRIS
     Wobbly, please come to  grips with this. There are all kinds of  people
in the Secret Service. Commoners and dukes. Shepherds and their masters. But
they all have one  thing in common.  Their blades are poisoned. Brave Robert
here  made  a beautiful thrust.  Except he  forgot  that I couldn't fence. I
slipped, fell  to one  knee, closed my eyes. He pinned  himself on my sword.
But he touched me. He touched me!
     (smiles)
     A mere scratch, Wobbly, but, since the blade was poisoned, I'm  soon to
follow  him. Sweet, isn't it? Why don't you use it in a play, Wobbly. I give
you my permission.

     He falls to one knee, clutches his chest. He drops his sword.

     ANNE
     Poor man.

     She  walks over to him.  He  looks up at her, smiles. She  takes out  a
handkerchief  and wants to wipe his forehead. He rises with an effort, stops
her.

     CHRIS
     I was afraid,  Madam, that your  husband  here was going  to  commit  a
terrible mistake. You see, that's what we authors usually do in this kind of
situation.  People laugh at us and kick us when we're  down, and  starve us,
and break up our families. Then, suddenly, someone takes  pity on  the  poor
bastard and -  lo and behold! a genius  is  among us! When  this happens, we
forget everything; we're so  overwhelmed, we  pour  out  gratitude right and
left. Artists tend to  be over-generous with their  gratitude.  They have so
much to give,  you see. Before they know it, they start making  promises.  I
know I did. Betsy!

     BETSY
     Chris!

     She rushes to him at last, but he looks over her head at the Queen.

     CHRIS
     Not you.

     He walks over unsteadily. He looks the Queen in the eye, smiles.

     Your body  is still  so  young. Graceful as ever. But you should  never
remove that mask you're so fond of wearing. Your face betrays you. There are
few  vices that  aren't written  in  it. It startled me  nine  years ago. It
startles me still.

     He turns to Joanne. She backs away from him.

     Stop. We're never  what we'd like ourselves to be. Duchess -  remember,
three years ago, you tried to seduce me?

     JOANNE
     (pleading to everyone)
     This is absurd!

     CHRIS
     I  wouldn't have minded much.  Except I had  just met your daughter. I,
who  used to  laugh  at virtue, who always  posed as  a  lady-killer, a bold
seducer, discovered that I was hopelessly monogamous. Funny, isn't it?

     He turns to Lionel who is looking at Joanne in astonishment.

     Remember, I  told you.... Lionel, pay  attention.  Remember,  when  you
officially recruited  me, I  told you  that writing was just a hobby for me?
Some hobby.

     LIONEL
     You  have no right  to blame me. I  offered you an alternative only  an
hour ago.

     CHRIS
     Yeah, and then I decided to get myself killed. Just to keep the element
of surprise on my side.

     He walks over to William.

     Wobbly, I once  told you I disliked you a great deal. Well,  you're the
only friend I ever had.

     WILLIAM
     Chris, I....

     CHRIS
     Stick to playwriting. That's your true vocation. Your sonnets suck.

     He goes into the foreground, faces the audience.

     Finally, I, mocker, pagan, discovered that I had faith. I,  who used to
disdain  mankind  found myself making love to  it,  all of it  at  once.  I,
atheist and sinner, turned to God when they  were dancing around their pagan
bonfire. Betsy....

     The Queen makes a movement. Chris almost laughs and then almost doubles
over from pain.

     Not you.

     Betsy looks at him.

     Stop whining and wipe your nose, it's awfully red. You look ridiculous.

     He swings around,  moves  all the way up to  the footlights,  turns his
back to the audience and addresses the lot of them.

     Well, hello there, ladies and gentlemen! Smug ladies and  kindly little
gentlemen!

     A pause.

     DE MAISSE
     I'm sorry, Your Majesty. I'd better leave for a while, I think. This is
very stressful for me.

     Chris falls down, raises himself on an elbow.

     CHRIS
     Wobbly.

     William rushes to him, knees.

     I'm frightened a little, Wobbly. Anyway, please treat her gently.

     WILLIAM
     Whom?

     CHRIS
     Oh,  don't be so dim, Wobbly. This  isn't the time. She deserves to  be
treated gently. ....I  think. There's an art  to  being  a woman's  lover, I
suppose. You know it. I don't.

     WILLIAM
     What do you mean?

     CHRIS
     You  know what  I mean.  Caressing them,  kissing  them, being  gentle.
Gentle. I wanted to be gentle to her. She wouldn't let me. She was always so
shy, so  shy. You know? That's what's always been missing  in my scribbling.
No, I wouldn't touch her. Wouldn't force myself on her. Couldn't. She can be
so beautiful, so vulnerable.

     WILLIAM
     There were others.

     CHRIS
     No. I've never slept with a woman in my entire life. Except, of course,
in my imagination. Doesn't  matter.  I got stuck last night. I was writing a
new play,  and there  was this monologue. The guy  is standing on  a  cliff,
looking over the sea. The last two  lines are  supposed to rhyme. I couldn't
find  the  rhyme.  The word  is  fleece. He looks over  the  sea,  and says,
something, something, ivory fleece.

     William thinks.

     WILLIAM
     Peace.

     CHRIS
     Too trivial.

     WILLIAM
     Er.... Timepiece. Police. Cease.

     CHRIS
     Lease. Greece. Oh, you so hopeless, Wobbly.

     WILLIAM
     Caprice.

     Chris struggles to rise to his feet.

     CHRIS
     Exactly.
     (giggles)
     Caprice.

     He falls face down and remains motionless. A pause.

     CURTAIN
     FINIS


Last-modified: Mon, 07 Jun 1999 14:56:34 GMT
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