31 Plays in 31 Days, #17 - “Needle Prick”

[breakinglight11]

Eh. I’m not sure about this. The idea isn’t developed enough to really manifest here. I think I need to do some outlining to figure out the narrative thrust a bit more clearly. But this builds upon many of the other Hawking scenes I’ve done this year, including #4 - Mrs. Barrymore, #6 - Ordinary Young Woman, and #17 - Game On.

The downside of 31 Plays in 31 Days is I have to bang out something even on days when I’m not sure or not feeling it. So sometimes it comes out forced and confused.



Day #17 – Needle Prick
From the Mrs. Hawking series
By Phoebe Roberts
~~~

CLARA HAWKING, a society lady, late thirties
ELIZABETH FROST, once a criminal mastermind, now institutionalized, mid fifties

London, England, 1889
~~~

(CLARA and MRS. FROST face off in the asylum, CLARA working away at her embroidery sampler.)

MRS. FROST: Well. Aren’t you the formidable one. I knew you were made of stern stuff, but I must admit— I thought I’d have seen more of a crack in that shell by now. And that auntie of yours thinks she is the warrior in the family.

(Pause.)

MRS. FROST: The question remains why you’re here. What could you possibly want from me now? It’s not enough that I’m trapped here like a lobster in a pot? And what could you hope to achieve by sitting here like a statue?

(Pause.)

MRS. FROST: Whatever it is… you’ve got to be here to do it. You’ve no pleasure in this, I can see that— you’ve not crumbled yet, but you’d not endure the onslaught otherwise. But it’s been months since I trapped Victoria— even if she had died, why take vengeance now? Why not sooner, or why wait until now, this moment?

(She paces the small room, wracking her brain, as CLARA tries to focus on her sewing.)

MRS. FROST: Something must be different now. Something has happened, something has changed, that has brought this on, whatever it may be. But what is that? What could—

(MRS. FROST whirls on her in a sudden outburst. CLARA startles, stabbing herself in the thumb with her needle.)

MRS. FROST: Miranda!

CLARA: (cries out in pain)

MRS. FROST: At last— the façade breaks! Even so, it must be— she’s in London for the first time. She’s sending her letters and making her inquiries. There’s nothing else it could be.

(CLARA stews over her pierced thumb.)

MRS. FROST: What are you afraid of? That she’ll serve as my agent on the outside? That she’ll bring her influence to bear to see me released? Or do you think you’re protecting her— that I’ll use and destroy her for my own ends?

(Pause.)

MRS. FROST: Have you met her? My girl? Was she all that you expected?

(Pause.)

MRS. FROST: She wasn’t as I did, that’s for certain. When she turned out to be so very… ordinary. Not that I hoped for another me, precisely, but perhaps I thought she might be clever. Or bold, or special in some way. But she wasn’t. You may wonder why I tell you this— why I tip my hand, as it were —but if you have met her, you already know. It’s why I always kept her well out of things. She wasn’t meant for anything more remarkable than, well… marriage and children with a decent man in a fine house. I’m sure you understand.

(Pause.)

MRS. FROST: You don’t believe me, I’m sure. Why should you? You know I lie as it suits and serves me, and I am better at it than anyone. But I shall tell you in any case— you’ve nothing to fear from my daughter. Or for her, for that matter. She has always been safe from me. You should have been able to see that. After all… you’re a mother too.