# Dramas (Baillie)/The Alienated Manor/Act 3

ACT III.
SCENE I.—Charville's private Library. He is discovered sitting by a table with the letter in his hand.
CHARVILLE (reading).
Enter DICKENSON.
DICKENSON.
CHARVILLE.
DICKENSON.
CHARVILLE (in a whisper).
DICKENSON.
CHARVILLE (in a low voice).
Let him come then, since it cannot be helped. (Gathering up the torn papers hastily while Crafton enters.)
CRAFTON.
CHARVILLE.
CRAFTON.
CHARVILLE.
CRAFTON.
CHARVILLE.
GRAFTON.
CHARVILLE.
CRAFTON.
CHARVILLE.
CRAFTON.
CHARVILLE.
CRAFTON.
CHARVILLE.
CRAFTON.
CHARVILLE.
CRAFTON.
CHARVILLE.
CRAFTON.
CHARVILLE.
CRAFTON.
CHARVILLE.
CRAFTON.
CHARVILLE.
CRAFTON.
CHARVILLE.
(Alone, after musing for a little.) "Every where, where they should not." Did he not glance at something in these words. "Young men's inclinations will not be controlled."—" Every where, where they should not."—I'll go live in the Hebrides—at Johny Grott's house—I'll travel for improvement to Kamschatka, rather than live here with such a neighbour as this at my elbow.—What noise is that?
Enter Dickenson.
DICKENSON.
CHARVILLE.
DICKENSON.
CHARVILLE.
DICKENSON.
CHARVILLE.
DICKENSON.
CHARVILLE.
DICKENSON.
CHARVILLE.
[Exit Dickenson.
Preparations making for some damned plot or other. O, if I could but devise some means of coming at the bottom of it!—Wonderfully anxious that I should go from home now and then; to amuse myself; to bring her the news, forsooth.—Could I but devise any means. (Stands a while considering, then takes a turn across the room with slow thoughtful steps, then rouses himself suddenly, and rings the bell.) ​
Re-enter Dickenson.
DICKENSON.
CHARVILLE.
DICKENSON.
CHARVILLE.
DICKENSON.
CHARVILLE.
Well, say no more about it; the cottage is hers.—(Dickenson bows gratefully, and is got as far as the door, to go away.)—Come back, Dickenson.
DICKENSON.
CHARVILLE.
This is not all I have to say, my good ​Dickenson.—(A pause, Dickenson expecting what he is further to say.) Hast thou ever been frolicsome in thy youth?
DICKENSON.
CHARVILLE.
DICKENSON.
CHARVILLE.
DICKENSON.
CHARVILLE.
DICKENSON.
CHARVILLE.
DICKENSON.
CHARVILLE.
DICKENSON.
CHARVILLE.
DICKENSON.
CHARVILLE.
DICKENSON.
CHARVILLE.
DICKENSON.
CHARVILLE.
DICKENSON.
CHARVILLE.
SCENE II.
The Drawing-room. A Table for Tea set out. Enter Dickenson carrying a Tea-board, which he places on the Table; and on the opposite Side Mrs. Smoothly, who goes prying about the Room.
DICKENSON.
SMOOTHLY.
DICKENSON.
SMOOTHLY.
DICKENSON.
SMOOTHLY.
Serving me! I should have had it in a fortnight, and not a smutch upon it. And what do you think of his sneaking behind doors, and listening too?—speak of the devil and he appears: I see him at this very moment lurking in the passage. (Calling off the stage.) Come in, sirrah; it is you I am talking of, and I'll say all I have said to your face. (Enter Charville, disguised in livery, and a silver waiter in his ​hand.) I say, sirrah, you are a dirty, sneaking, curious fellow. What business had you to stand listening at my lady's door when I was dressing her for dinner?
CHARVILLE.
SMOOTHLY.
DICKENSON.
SMOOTHLY.
DICKENSON.
SMOOTHLY.
CHARVILLE.
SMOOTHLEY.
DICKENSON.
SMOOTHLEY.
CHARVILLE (looking after her).
DICKENSON.
CHARVILLE.
DICKENSON.
CHARVILLE.
DICKENSON.
CHARVILLE.
DICKENSON.
I think you had better retire till they ring.
[Exeunt Charville and Dickenson, and enter Mrs. Charville and Mary, followed by Sir Robert Freemantle.
MRS. CHARVILLE.
FREEMANTLE.
MRS. CHARVILLE.
FREEMANTLE.
MRS. CHARVILLE.
FREEMANTLE.
MRS. CHARVILLE.
MARY.
MRS. CHARVILLE.
MARY.
MRS. CHARVILLE.
FREEMANTLE.
MRS. CHARVILLE.
MARY.
FREEMANTLE.
MARY.
FREEMANTLE.
And in the mean time shall we examine that ​bust with the light cast down upon it? You will find that it has, so viewed, a beautiful effect. (Takes a candle from the table, and goes behind a large screen at the bottom of the room, followed by Mrs. Charville, when, from the door left ajar by Mary, enters Charville.)
CHARVILLE.
FREEMANTLE. (behind the scene.)
CHARVILLE.
FREEMANTLE. (as before).
CHARVILLE.
Her modesty indeed! that wont stand in the way.—They speak low again: they are ​whispering now. They are; flesh and blood can endure it no longer! (Running to the table, and throwing some of the china on the floor, when Freemantle and Mrs. Charville, alarmed by the noise, come hastily from behind the screen.)
MRS. CHARVILLE.
That awkward fellow again breaking more china.—(To Charville). This seems to be your only occupation in the family, Barnaby! Ha, ha, ha! how bewildered he looks! What brought you here now? You should never come but when the bell rings.
CHARVILLE.
MRS. CHARVILLE.
I'm sure, Barnaby, I does not know neither; for I know nothing on this earth that one could want thee for, unless it were, for spite, to hand a cup of tea at a time to scald a neighbour's fingers.—(To Freemantle as Charville retires.) Did you ever see such a looking creature?
FREEMANTLE.
MRS. CHARVILLE.
FREEMANTLE.
It may be so, but his dialect belongs to no county in England that I am acquainted with.—(Mary heard speaking without). Don't stand here, young man; keep below till you are called for.
Re-enter Mary.
MARY.
MRS. CHARVILLE.
Mary begins to prepare tea, when enter Dickenson, and Charville peeping behind him.
DICKENSON.
MRS. CHARVILLE.
Foolish fancy! but let us relieve the poor man whoever he may be. (Exeunt Mary and Freemantle hastily.) It is a cold night, sister; ​stay and put on a shawl.—(To Dickenson.) Bring me that shawl from the next room.—(Charville gives a sign to Dickenson, and goes for the shawl himself.) Surely, Dickenson, you don't believe that it can possibly be Mr. Charville: you would be more alarmed if you thought so. There is some trick in this: I know it by that smile on your face. (Dickenson retires without answering, and Charville re-enters with the shawl.) That is a lace shawl, foolish fellow, bring me the other. That would keep nobody warm, and be torn on the bushes besides.
CHARVILLE. (rending the shawl in anger, and speaking in his natural voice).
MRS. CHARVILLE.
CHARVILLE.
MRS. CHARVILLE.
CHARVILLE.
MRS. CHARVILLE.
CHARVILLE.
MRS. CHARVILLE.
CHARVILLE.
MRS. CHARVILLE.
CHARVILLE.