The Mousetrap

MISSWILLIAMS. (putting down the kettle) One of the most interesting pupils I ever had. Undisciplined, but a first-class brain. She took a first at Somerville and you may have read her book on the rock paintings of the Hazelpa?

CARLA. Um?

MISSWILLIAMS. It was very well reviewed. Yes, I’m very proud of Angela. (She puts the teapot on the tray L) Now, we’ll just let that stand a minute, shall we?

CARLA. (putting the album on the upstage end of the divan) Miss Williams, you know why I’ve come?

MISSWILLIAMS. Roughly, yes. (She moves to the fireplace) You have just learnt the facts about the tragedy that ended your father’s life, and you want fuller information about the whole matter. (She switches off the kettle)

CARLA. And, I suppose, like everybody else, you think I ought to forget the whole thing?

MISSWILLIAMS. Not at all. It appears to be perfectly natural that you should want to understand. Then, and only then, can you forget about it.

CARLA. Will you tell me everything?

MISSWILLIAMS. Any questions you like to put to me I will answer to the full extent of my knowledge. Now, where’s my little footstool? I have a little footstool somewhere. (She turns the armchair to face the divan and looks around for the footstool)

CARLA. (rising and drawing the footstool out from under the armchair) Here we are.

MISSWILLIAMS. Thank you, dear. (She seats herself comfortably in the armchair and puts her feet on the footstool) I like to keep my feet off the ground.

CARLA. I think—first—that I’d like to know just what my father and mother were like—what you thought they were like, I mean. (She sits on the divan)

MISSWILLIAMS. Your father, as you know, has been acclaimed as a great painter. I, of course, am not competent to judge. I do not, myself, admire his paintings. The drawing seems to me faulty and the colouring exaggerated. However, that may be, I have never seen why the possession of what is called the artistic temperament should excuse a man from ordinary decent behaviour. Your mother had a great deal to put up with where he was concerned.

CARLA. And she minded?

MISSWILLIAMS. She minded very much. Mr. Crale was not a faithful husband. She put up with his infidelities and forgave him for them—but she did not take them meekly. She remonstrated—and with spirit.

CARLA. You mean they gave each other hell?

MISSWILLIAMS. (quietly) That would not be my description. (She rises and crosses below the armchair to the tableL) There were quarrels, yes, but your mother had dignity, and your father was in the wrong. (She pours the tea)

CARLA. Always?

MISSWILLIAMS. (firmly) Always. I was—very fond of Mrs. Crale. And very sorry for her. She had a lot to bear. If I had been Mr. Crale’s wife, I should have left him. No woman should submit to humiliation at her husband’s hands.

CARLA. You didn’t like my father?

MISSWILLIAMS. (tight-lipped) I disliked him—very much.

CARLA. But he was really fond of my mother?

(MISS WILLIAMS picks up a cup of tea and the sugar bowl and crosses to Carla)

MISSWILLIAMS. I believe honestly that he cared for her—but men . . . ! (She sniffs, then hands the cup of tea to Carla)

CARLA. (slightly amused) You don’t think much of men?

MISSWILLIAMS. (with slight fanaticism) Men still have the best of this world. I hope it will not always be so. (She thrusts the sugar bowl at Carla) Sugar?

CARLA. I don’t take it, thanks. And then Elsa Greer came along?

(MISS WILLIAMS crosses to the table, puts down the sugar bowl and picks up her cup of tea)

MISSWILLIAMS. (with distaste) Yes. Ostensibly to have her portrait painted; they made poor progress with the picture. (She crosses toC) Doubtless they had other things to talk about. It was obvious that Mr. Crale was infatuated with the girl and that she was doing nothing to discourage him. (She sniffs, then sits in the armchair)

CARLA. What did you think of her?