Fanny’s First Play

it was. Margaret Holloway Gaol. Was that safe enough? Knox and Mrs. Knox Holloway Gaol! Knox You’ve joined the Suffragettes! Margaret No. I wish I had. I could have had the same experience in better company. Please sit down, Monsieur Duvallet. She sits between the table and the sofa. Mrs. Knox, overwhelmed, sits at the other side of the table. Knox remains standing in the middle of the room. Duvallet Sitting down on the sofa. It was nothing. An adventure. Nothing. Margaret Obdurately. Drunk and assaulting the police! Forty shillings or a month! Mrs. Knox Margaret! Who accused you of such a thing? Margaret The policeman I assaulted. Knox You mean to say that you did it! Margaret I did. I had that satisfaction at all events. I knocked two of his teeth out. Knox And you sit there coolly and tell me this! Margaret Well, where do you want me to sit? What’s the use of saying things like that? Knox My daughter in Holloway Gaol! Margaret All the women in Holloway are somebody’s daughters. Really, father, you must make up your mind to it. If you had sat in that cell for fourteen days making up your mind to it, you would understand that I’m not in the humor to be gaped at while you’re trying to persuade yourself that it can’t be real. These things really do happen to real people every day; and you read about them in the papers and think it’s all right. Well, they’ve happened to me: that’s all. Knox Feeble-forcible. But they shouldn’t have happened to you. Don’t you know that? Margaret They shouldn’t happen to anybody, I suppose. But they do. Rising impatiently. And really I’d rather go out and assault another policeman and go back to Holloway than keep talking round and round it like this. If you’re going to turn me out of the house, turn me out: the sooner I go the better. Duvallet Rising quickly. That is impossible, mademoiselle. Your father has his position to consider. To turn his daughter out of doors would ruin him socially. Knox Oh, you’ve put her up to that, have you? And where did you come in, may I ask? Duvallet I came in at your invitation⁠—at your amiable insistence, in fact, not at my own. But you need have no anxiety on my account. I was concerned in the regrettable incident which led to your daughter’s incarceration. I got a fortnight without the option of a fine on the ridiculous ground that I ought to have struck the policeman with my fist. I should have done so with pleasure had I known; but, as it was, I struck him on the ear with my boot⁠—a magnificent moulinet, I must say⁠—and was informed that I had been guilty of an act of cowardice, but that for the sake of the entente cordiale I should be dealt with leniently. Yet Miss Knox, who used her fist, got a month, but with the option of a fine. I did not know this until I was released, when my first act was to pay the fine. And here we are. Mrs. Knox You ought to pay the gentleman the fine, Jo. Knox Reddening. Oh, certainly. He takes out some money. Duvallet Oh please! it does not matter. Knox hands him two sovereigns. If you insist⁠—he pockets them Thank you. Margaret I’m ever so much obliged to you, Monsieur Duvallet. Duvallet Can I be of any further assistance, mademoiselle? Margaret I think you had better leave us to fight it out, if you don’t mind. Duvallet Perfectly. Madame bow⁠—Mademoiselle bow⁠—Monsieur bow⁠—He goes out. Mrs. Knox Don’t ring, Jo. See the gentleman out yourself. Knox hastily sees Duvallet out. Mother and daughter sit looking forlornly at one another without saying a word. Mrs. Knox slowly sits down. Margaret follows her example. They look at one another again. Mr. Knox returns. Knox Shortly and sternly. Amelia: this is your job. To Margaret. I leave you to your mother. I shall have my own say in the matter when I hear what you have to say to her. He goes out, solemn and offended. Margaret With a bitter little laugh. Just what the Suffragette said to me in Holloway. He throws the job on you. Mrs. Knox Reproachfully. Margaret! Margaret You know it’s true. Mrs. Knox Margaret: if you’re going to be hardened about it, there’s no use my saying anything. Margaret I’m not hardened, mother. But I can’t talk nonsense about it. You see, it’s all real to me. I’ve suffered it. I’ve been shoved and bullied. I’ve had my arms twisted. I’ve been made scream with pain in other ways. I’ve been flung into a filthy cell with a lot of other poor wretches as if I were a sack of coals being emptied into a cellar. And the only difference between me and the others was that I hit back. Yes I did. And I did worse. I wasn’t ladylike. I cursed. I called names. I heard words that I didn’t even know that I knew, coming out of my mouth just as if somebody else had spoken them. The policeman repeated them in court. The magistrate said he could hardly believe it. The policeman held out his hand with his two teeth in it that I knocked out. I said it was all right; that I had heard myself using those words quite distinctly; and that I had taken the good conduct prize for three years running at school. The poor old gentleman put me back for the missionary to find out who I was, and to ascertain the state of my mind. I wouldn’t tell, of course, for your sakes at home here; and I wouldn’t say I was sorry, or apologize to the policeman, or compensate him or anything of that sort. I wasn’t sorry. The one thing that gave me any satisfaction was getting in that smack on his mouth; and I