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breakinglight11And the last one for the year. Not exactly a new idea— lots of stories do variations on this —but I thought this would make for a fun and funny little Hawking bit to end on.
Day #31 - “The Nighthawk”
From the Mrs. Hawking series
By Phoebe Roberts
~~~
VICTORIA HAWKING, society avenger-emeritus, mid-fifties
MARY SWANN, her successor, mid-thirties
NATHANIEL HAWKING, their right-hand man, late thirties
CLARA HAWKING, his society wife, early forties
ARTHUR SWANN, Mary’s husband and MI6 agent, mid-thirties
London, England, 1894
~~~
(A handsome balcony box at the opera. Enter the extended Hawking family in their evening finery, CLARA leading the way followed by NATHANIEL, MRS. HAWKING, MARY, and ARTHUR. They take their seats.)
ARTHUR: I haven’t been to the theater since the ambassador wanted to take in that Broadway jaunt about the statue that comes to life.
NATHANIEL: You bought out the whole box? How much did this cost?
CLARA: Don't you worry, dear, it's worth it.
MRS. HAWKING: What is this, light comic opera?
CLARA: I wouldn't call it a comedy, but I will say I laughed all the way through.
NATHANIEL: Why's that? Oh, is it terrible?
CLARA: On the contrary! I adored it.
MRS. HAWKING: Is that why you insisted we all come?
CLARA: Oh, none of you shall want to miss this. Particularly you, Auntie.
MRS. HAWKING: It’s hardly my area, Clara.
CLARA: I don’t know about that. Has anyone taken a look at the playbill?
(MARY opens it to read, and her eyes go wide.)
MARY: “A rousing adventure of love and justice, where a respectable gentleman’s ordinary life and unimpeachable breeding belie a secret crusade bringing hope and protection to the downtrodden unfortunates of London who have nowhere else to turn.”
(Pause.)
MRS. HAWKING: I beg your pardon.
CLARA: Tell her what it’s called, Mary.
MARY: “The Nighthawk.”
(Pause.)
MRS. HAWKING: No.
CLARA: Oh, yes.
MRS. HAWKING: No!
NATHANIEL: It can’t be!
ARTHUR: Quite a lot just for coincidence, isn’t it?
CLARA: Oh, far too much.
MARY: How could it be?
CLARA: I imagine that what women have whispered of over the years has finally made it to the ears of some artist who found it inspiring.
NATHANIEL: With some artistic license, it seems.
ARTHUR: Or else just ignorance.
MRS. HAWKING: I should say so— of course I must be a man, for example!
CLARA: I should think you’d be grateful to know not all your secrets have made the rounds.
MRS. HAWKING: And now they’ve made some song and dance routine about it? A fantastical… diversion? How dare they?
CLARA: They do dare indeed. And let me assure you, it is most thoroughly diverting.
MRS. HAWKING: I ought to storm home right this minute.
CLARA: You’ll do no such thing. Don’t you want to see what they’ve made of you?
NATHANIEL: Oh, I can’t wait.
CLARA: And that’s just the beginning— wait ‘til you see what they’ve made of the rest of us.
Day #31 - “The Nighthawk”
From the Mrs. Hawking series
By Phoebe Roberts
~~~
VICTORIA HAWKING, society avenger-emeritus, mid-fifties
MARY SWANN, her successor, mid-thirties
NATHANIEL HAWKING, their right-hand man, late thirties
CLARA HAWKING, his society wife, early forties
ARTHUR SWANN, Mary’s husband and MI6 agent, mid-thirties
London, England, 1894
~~~
(A handsome balcony box at the opera. Enter the extended Hawking family in their evening finery, CLARA leading the way followed by NATHANIEL, MRS. HAWKING, MARY, and ARTHUR. They take their seats.)
ARTHUR: I haven’t been to the theater since the ambassador wanted to take in that Broadway jaunt about the statue that comes to life.
NATHANIEL: You bought out the whole box? How much did this cost?
CLARA: Don't you worry, dear, it's worth it.
MRS. HAWKING: What is this, light comic opera?
CLARA: I wouldn't call it a comedy, but I will say I laughed all the way through.
NATHANIEL: Why's that? Oh, is it terrible?
CLARA: On the contrary! I adored it.
MRS. HAWKING: Is that why you insisted we all come?
CLARA: Oh, none of you shall want to miss this. Particularly you, Auntie.
MRS. HAWKING: It’s hardly my area, Clara.
CLARA: I don’t know about that. Has anyone taken a look at the playbill?
(MARY opens it to read, and her eyes go wide.)
MARY: “A rousing adventure of love and justice, where a respectable gentleman’s ordinary life and unimpeachable breeding belie a secret crusade bringing hope and protection to the downtrodden unfortunates of London who have nowhere else to turn.”
(Pause.)
MRS. HAWKING: I beg your pardon.
CLARA: Tell her what it’s called, Mary.
MARY: “The Nighthawk.”
(Pause.)
MRS. HAWKING: No.
CLARA: Oh, yes.
MRS. HAWKING: No!
NATHANIEL: It can’t be!
ARTHUR: Quite a lot just for coincidence, isn’t it?
CLARA: Oh, far too much.
MARY: How could it be?
CLARA: I imagine that what women have whispered of over the years has finally made it to the ears of some artist who found it inspiring.
NATHANIEL: With some artistic license, it seems.
ARTHUR: Or else just ignorance.
MRS. HAWKING: I should say so— of course I must be a man, for example!
CLARA: I should think you’d be grateful to know not all your secrets have made the rounds.
MRS. HAWKING: And now they’ve made some song and dance routine about it? A fantastical… diversion? How dare they?
CLARA: They do dare indeed. And let me assure you, it is most thoroughly diverting.
MRS. HAWKING: I ought to storm home right this minute.
CLARA: You’ll do no such thing. Don’t you want to see what they’ve made of you?
NATHANIEL: Oh, I can’t wait.
CLARA: And that’s just the beginning— wait ‘til you see what they’ve made of the rest of us.
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