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breakinglight11An idea from the next Mrs. Hawking play, part 7. I was thinking that Mary would have to deal with her hurt that Mrs. Hawking sent her away rather than adjust to keep her in her life. I thought, especially given everything Madam Malaika said about how her path eventually destroyed her, might make her want to turn away from anything that would make her become the same way. But that would involve a lot of soul searching, figuring out what she really wants and what she's going to do without someone laying out a path ahead of her.
Day #8 - Different Person, Different Life
From Mrs. Hawking part 7
By Phoebe Roberts
New York, New York, 1890
MARY SWANN, formerly a society avenger, early thirties
ARTHUR SWANN, her husband and head of security at the British embassy, mid thirties
~~~
(MARY and ARTHUR sit across from each other at their dinner table, ARTHUR reading from a notebook and her rocking a cradle with their baby daughter in it.)
MARY: And what did they do next?
ARTHUR: What do you think? They were going to drag the canal for her body.
MARY: Of course! Because surely no woman could have left all that on her own.
ARTHUR: But not to worry, I’ve learned better than that. I put in a request to see her things at home. See if I can spy some sign of what she might have done just before she went missing.
MARY: Good man.
ARTHUR: So, just to make certain I do up all the buttons, what would you say I should keep my eye out for? If she did go on her own, she’s bound to have taken a few things with her. Change of kit, some money, a few little things she could carry— hair pins, kerchief, diary book?
MARY: And if there’s nothing of that gone, ask the rest of the household. If the maid’s got a dress missing, or if something’s gone wandering from the kitchen. If she didn’t want anyone to know she’d left of her own, she wouldn’t want people to find her own things gone.
ARTHUR: Ah, yes. Very clever.
MARY: And make a note, even if it’s something odd that’s taken— particularly if it is! There might be some clue in it, and you know the uniforms aren’t going to spot it.
ARTHUR: Yes, not those clods, that’s certain.
MARY: Oh, dear. I don’t mean to run down your experience—
ARTHUR: No, there’s a reason I left the police. Though sometimes Her Majesty’s service doesn’t do them much better. As you can see.
MARY: Well, at least they’ve got you to whip them into shape.
ARTHUR: And you to lend your thoughts.
(Pause.)
MARY: Arthur.
ARTHUR: Yes, love?
MARY: I see what you’re doing.
ARTHUR: Whatever do you mean?
MARY: You’re trying to pull me back into things.
ARTHUR: How could I?
MARY: You’re trying, no matter how. And you know what I’ve told you. I’m finished with that life, I’ve put it behind me.
ARTHUR: But you’re so good at it, Mary!
MARY: That wasn’t the trouble.
ARTHUR: You did so much good for so many souls, love. And more than that… you did yourself good. You loved it. I saw.
MARY: For a time. Not anymore.
ARTHUR: I know how she hurt you…
MARY: Yes. She did.
ARTHUR: But did that really take away all the fire away?
MARY: Arthur, we’ve been through this. I want to… go to tea, and bake for picnics, and see a play or a baseball game, without the worry that I’ll be dashing off into the night at a moment’s notice, or risking my hide against some ruffian.
ARTHUR: And that’s all? That’s enough?
MARY: That work, that life… that made her what she is. And I can’t become that. With no friends or family, endlessly battering against the things I can’t change, til I burn out from the rage of it. I want to be a different person. I want to live a different life. This life.
ARTHUR: You know I want you to have whatever you want. But it… seems a shame, somehow. Not to do something you were so good at.
(MARY turns to attend the baby.)
MARY: I mean to be good at this now. And I won’t let anything keep me from it.
ARTHUR: Of course, love.
(He tucks his notebook away.)
Day #8 - Different Person, Different Life
From Mrs. Hawking part 7
By Phoebe Roberts
New York, New York, 1890
MARY SWANN, formerly a society avenger, early thirties
ARTHUR SWANN, her husband and head of security at the British embassy, mid thirties
~~~
(MARY and ARTHUR sit across from each other at their dinner table, ARTHUR reading from a notebook and her rocking a cradle with their baby daughter in it.)
MARY: And what did they do next?
ARTHUR: What do you think? They were going to drag the canal for her body.
MARY: Of course! Because surely no woman could have left all that on her own.
ARTHUR: But not to worry, I’ve learned better than that. I put in a request to see her things at home. See if I can spy some sign of what she might have done just before she went missing.
MARY: Good man.
ARTHUR: So, just to make certain I do up all the buttons, what would you say I should keep my eye out for? If she did go on her own, she’s bound to have taken a few things with her. Change of kit, some money, a few little things she could carry— hair pins, kerchief, diary book?
MARY: And if there’s nothing of that gone, ask the rest of the household. If the maid’s got a dress missing, or if something’s gone wandering from the kitchen. If she didn’t want anyone to know she’d left of her own, she wouldn’t want people to find her own things gone.
ARTHUR: Ah, yes. Very clever.
MARY: And make a note, even if it’s something odd that’s taken— particularly if it is! There might be some clue in it, and you know the uniforms aren’t going to spot it.
ARTHUR: Yes, not those clods, that’s certain.
MARY: Oh, dear. I don’t mean to run down your experience—
ARTHUR: No, there’s a reason I left the police. Though sometimes Her Majesty’s service doesn’t do them much better. As you can see.
MARY: Well, at least they’ve got you to whip them into shape.
ARTHUR: And you to lend your thoughts.
(Pause.)
MARY: Arthur.
ARTHUR: Yes, love?
MARY: I see what you’re doing.
ARTHUR: Whatever do you mean?
MARY: You’re trying to pull me back into things.
ARTHUR: How could I?
MARY: You’re trying, no matter how. And you know what I’ve told you. I’m finished with that life, I’ve put it behind me.
ARTHUR: But you’re so good at it, Mary!
MARY: That wasn’t the trouble.
ARTHUR: You did so much good for so many souls, love. And more than that… you did yourself good. You loved it. I saw.
MARY: For a time. Not anymore.
ARTHUR: I know how she hurt you…
MARY: Yes. She did.
ARTHUR: But did that really take away all the fire away?
MARY: Arthur, we’ve been through this. I want to… go to tea, and bake for picnics, and see a play or a baseball game, without the worry that I’ll be dashing off into the night at a moment’s notice, or risking my hide against some ruffian.
ARTHUR: And that’s all? That’s enough?
MARY: That work, that life… that made her what she is. And I can’t become that. With no friends or family, endlessly battering against the things I can’t change, til I burn out from the rage of it. I want to be a different person. I want to live a different life. This life.
ARTHUR: You know I want you to have whatever you want. But it… seems a shame, somehow. Not to do something you were so good at.
(MARY turns to attend the baby.)
MARY: I mean to be good at this now. And I won’t let anything keep me from it.
ARTHUR: Of course, love.
(He tucks his notebook away.)
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