Title Page

A DESPERATE GAME.

A Comic Drama.

IN ONE ACT.

BY

JOHN MADDISON MORTON,

(Member of the Dramatic Authors’ Society),

AUTHOR OF

Box and Cox, John Dobbs, The Woman I Adore, A Capital Match,
Your Life’s in Danger, Who Stole the Pocket Book? Poor
Pillicoddy, Friend Waggles, Where there’s a Will
there’s a Way, The Writing on the Wall, Betsy Baker,
Going to the Derby, My precious Betsy, Slasher
and Crasher, The Two Bonnycastles, &c., &c.

THOMAS HAILES LACY,

WELLINGTON STREET, STRAND,

LONDON.

First performed at the Theatre Royal Adelphi,
on Saturday, April 9th, 1853.

Characters.

Costumes.

CAPTAIN RATCLIFFE.—Green coat, gilt buttons, light waistcoat, black trowsers, with over coat, whiskers, and moustache to take off.

POSTLETHWAITE.—Light drab trowsers, fancy waistcoat, blue shooting coat, green wide-awake. Second dress: Same, muddy.

DAVID.—Old fashioned livery.

MRS. SOMERTON.—Green tarletan ball dress, trimmed with ribbon and flowers.

PEGGY.—Old fashioned housekeeper’s dress.

SCENE—Tunbridge Wells.

Time in Representation—55 minutes.

A DESPERATE GAME.

SCENE I.—A Drawing Room at Mrs. Somerton’s; a fire-place at C. with a bell rope on each side of it; doors R. C. and L. C.; above the door R. C. a small window; window R. 2 E.; a clock on the mantel-piece; a work table L., on which is a writing desk; another table in C. of the stage, with papers, books, &c. strewed on it; chairs, &c., &c.; another door at R. 2 E. Stage dark. A loud ringing at door bell heard.

RAT. (outside) Now then, my good friend, a little quicker, if you please. (enters at door, L. C., in over coat, whiskers, and moustache; he is closely followed by DAVID, who carries a lantern)

DAVID. But, zur, zur, don’t ye be in such a hurry.

RAT. (throwing a hasty look round the room, then—aside) Come, I’ve effected an entrance, at all events! so far, so well, provided I’m not compelled to beat a retreat before I’ve accomplished my object. (walks to various parts of room, examining, &c., &c.)

DAVID. (all this time examining RATCLIFFE from head to foot with his lantern—aside) Well, this be about the free and easiest chap I ever cut in with; he almost pulls the gate bell down to begin with, and when I opens the door—thinking in course it’s missus come home—in he walks, and without so much as rubbing his boots on the door mat, tells me to light him up stairs, at four o’clock in the morning, too. (aloud) Who be ye, zur? I know it don’t become a servant to be inquisitive—so if you’ll only tell me who ye be, what ye be, why you come here, what you want here, where you come from, and a few other particklers, I’ll be satisfied and ask no questions.

RAT. (aside) I must get rid of this fellow.

DAVID. If you want missus, she be gone from home. She be at a grand ball, and if she finds you here when she comes home, she’ll blow me up in fine style, as sure as my name’s——

RAT. David!

DAVID. (astonished) He knows my name!

RAT. (turning towards DAVID) Now hark ye, David. There’s nothing more offensive to me, David, than familiarity in a servant, David; but in consideration, David, of your having only recently entered Mrs. Somerton’s service——

DAVID. He knows that, too.

RAT. And you’re being naturally a stupid thick-headed fellow.

DAVID. Dang it, he knows all about me.

RAT. I have no objection to look over it this once, but the next time it occurs, David, I shall discharge you, David!

DAVID. Discharge me! You? (suddenly) Lud a mercy—in course, I know who ’ee be now!

RAT. (alarmed) The devil you do.

DAVID. Ees, you be he.

RAT. Oh! I’m he, am I?

DAVID. Ees. I should have known ’ee again directly, only I never seed ’ee before.

RAT. (aside) That’s lucky!

DAVID. Why missus has been expecting of you the last three days. It was only just afore she went out she said to me, “David,” said she, “if my cousin should happen to arrive from London before I get home, show him every attention,” says she!

RAT. (aside) Her cousin, egad! he takes me for that simpleton Percy Postlethwaite; not very complimentary, perhaps, but decidedly lucky! (aloud) Yes, David, here I am, at last; and how is Mrs. Somerton?

DAVID. Mrs. Somerton! is that the way you speak of your cousin? go along, do. (poking RATCLIFFE in the side) Ah! Mr. Percy Postlethwaite, you be a lucky young chap to get such a wife, I can tell ’ee.

RAT. (aside) Wife! so, so, Mr. Percy Postlethwaite, matters are in a more forward state than you led me to believe.

DAVID. You’ll find supper all ready for ’ee in the library, (pointing) so I’ll just light the candles.

RAT. By all means, David. (aside) He does’nt know me.

DAVID. (while lighting the candles) Missus ’ll be mortal glad to see ’ee, and as for Peggy, she won’t know whether she be standing on her head or her heels.

RAT. I’m sure I’m very much obliged to Peggy. (aside) Who’s Peggy?

DAVID. And no wonder; she tells me many’s the time she’s dangled ’ee on her knee, afore ye were breeched; (imitating) but ye know all about that.

RAT. Of course. I’ve the most distinct recollection of everything that happened to me before I was breeched.

DAVID. (having lighted candles) There, and now I’ll go down stairs and wait for missus; and as soon as she comes in, I’ll say to her——

RAT. Not one word, either to her or to Peggy! I wish to give them both an agreeable surprise, David; you understand, eh?

DAVID. (hesitating) I think I do!

RAT. (giving him money) There’s a crown for you—think again.

DAVID. (pocketing money) I’m sure I do! I’ll be as dumb as an oyster. (going—stops) As I said before, supper be all ready in t’other room, (going—stops) and if ’ee want anything you needn’t ring for me, ’cause I be going to take a bit of a snooze before the kitchen fire. (yawning) How sleepy I be to be sure.

Exit at door, L. C.

RAT. (watching DAVID out, then goes quickly up and closes the door) Alone at last—now then to work. (takes a pair of pistols from his coat pocket, which he places on table) But first, as ladies invariably fly to the bell ropes to raise an alarm, I must take the liberty of cutting these. (taking knife out of his pocket, and cutting the bell ropes) Now to examine the means of escape, in case of interruption—(opening window and looking out)—the garden—a small conservatory underneath—that’s awkward; but, luckily, there’s an apple tree so conveniently close as to make a very tolerable ladder on an emergency, so far perfectly satisfactory—and if my information is only tolerably correct, and it ought to be considering the trouble I’ve had in obtaining it, (taking small pocket book from his waistcoat and opening it) this door should lead to Mrs. Somerton’s chamber—(opening door at L., and looking in)—exactly, and very elegantly appointed indeed. (closes door, and again looking at his pocket book)—“near the door a table”—precisely—(laying his hand on the table)—“on the table a small writing desk”—here it is—(laying his hand on the writing desk)—locked, and the key taken out, that of course I expected; but as I have ascertained that between the hours of 12 and 1 yesterday it became the temporary receptacle of a pocket book containing bank notes to the amount of fifteen thousand pounds, it is not likely I should come unprovided with the means of securing such a treasure. (takes out a bunch of small keys, some of which he tries—produces a chisel from his coat pocket, and is about to insert it under the lid of the box, a loud ring at gate bell heard) Mrs. Somerton returned. (runs to door, L. U. E.—ring repeated) Again! Stay—(listening) The window—quick! (runs to window) A man in the garden, and cautiously making towards this window. Who can he be? and what can be his object? Not the same as mine surely—egad, that would be comical enough. If I could only observe—— Ah—that door. (blows out the candle, and gropes his way to door, R.; at the moment that he enters the room, R., POSTLETHWAITE’S head is seen at the window, R. U. E.)

POS. I’ve done it! I’ve been ringing at the bell long enough, so I’ve been obliged to effect an entrance by the window; (putting one leg over the window sill) and let me observe to the inexperienced in these matters, that the fact of threading one’s way up a densely wooded apple tree on a pitch dark night is a gymnastic feat more easily imagined than accomplished. (gets in at window—he has a carpet bag) However, as I said before, I’ve done it, and what’s more I live to tell it, though I may be allowed to remark that, considering my cousin, Mrs. Somerton, has been expecting me—me, her affianced husband—for the last three nights, I think she might have allowed one of her domestics to sit up for me: however, I’m not going to quarrel with her, no—no—I cannot forget that she’s my cousin, and the only child of my honoured and lamented uncle—I mean aunt—no, uncle—and now that the law suit has been decided in her favour, and that she steps into possession of fifteen thousand pounds, her late husband’s fortune, I feel that to upbraid her at such a moment would be unmanly. There’s a spark of fire left in the grate I declare—that’s lucky! I’ll light a candle if I can find one. (feeling about) Here’s one—no, it’s a scent bottle—now I’ve got it—(takes candle, and goes towards fireplace)—and now for a piece of paper. (takes a paper out of his pocket, and about to tear it) Stop—it won’t do to tear this, this is yesterday’s Times, in which I find that my friend Captain Ratcliffe has been appointed to the situation of Chief Superintendent of the Rural Police, of the Western Division of the County of Kent, and as I know he’s been here at Tunbridge Wells for the last week, I’ve determined to find him out, and be the first to congratulate him—this’ll do! (taking another piece of paper, and lighting the candle with it) There—and now—— (seeing a letter on the table, and taking it up) What’s this? “Colonel Boldwig requests the honour—Mrs. Somerton’s company—Thursday evening—quadrilles, &c. &c.” Then she’s not at home; then, egad, I’ll wait for her here—but not in this costume—no, I’ll just change my coat, et cetera: and, probably, my et cetera requires changing more than my coat, because naturally in ascending a tree one occasionally requires to sit down, consequently, it naturally follows that one’s et cetera, upon which one does sit down—of course, it stands to reason—so here goes. (taking up the candle, carpet bag, and umbrella, and going towards door, R. C., and enters. Scene again dark. At this moment RATCLIFFE opens door at R., enters, moves across on tiptoe, and locks the door at