Kiss Me not, Hardy!

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5

 

​    Cast

 Lord Byron

Fletcher

Francis Hodgson

Lady Falkland

John and Thomas Edwards - Tailors

Mr. Love - Jeweller

John Hanson

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1809 - Byron's rooms, St. James' - London

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F: My lord - the Reverend Hodgson wishes to be presented inside 

B: Well now - think you we're at Court, Fletcher? 

F: In court, my Lord?

B: Send him in

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FH enters

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B: Good day Hodgson - what think you of my valet de chambre? Has he not a surfeit of natural grace and discretion? Nimble of foot and tongue?

FH: Good day - well, he certainly adds a charming elemental air to this metropolitan fog of vice - (to F) - Fletcher? is it? - yes, I am not quite Reverended as yet - Mr. will do for now

F: Aye sir - shall I get some brandy?

B: You shall fetch the brandy indeed Fletcher - thank you

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F departs to cellars - FH is uneasy and ponderous

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B: What darkens your brow, my friend?

FH: I've terrible news Byron (shakes head) - our - your - solid drinking and Naval, albeit court-martialled of late, chum - Lord Falkland - well - he lost a duel last eve - and is dead!

B(shocked): It can't be! Why, the navy was to reinstate him!

FH: ‘Twould seem he thought so too - and went in high dudgeon to celebrate at the Dog & Duck - encountered that joyless soak ‘Pogey’ Powell - insults and cane-whipping ensued and, to be brief, Golders Green and a bullet to the groin did claim his existence

B: I can hardly believe it - to lose his life - for a moderately amusing nickname not of his own making!  

FH: Here - a lock of his hair taken A.D. - we know how deep your affection for that rascally captain ran

B(under great depression of spirits): Good god in heaven - I am yet godfather to one of his four children - Byron Charles Ferdinand Plantagenet Carey - fine child - what will his widow do? He hadn't a bean to split in half

FH: Indeed - all his acquaintance are squeezed and embarrassed to the very nethers - and a Navy pension also looks unlikely 

B: I shall endeavour to assist them, which, God knows - I cannot do as I could wish, from my own embarrassments and the many claims upon me from other quarters (ruminates) £500 to employ for the children's benefit I think would afford some relief - I'll have Hanson look to it

FH: £500! - I'm sure your mother's upholsterers will be delighted 

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SCENE 2

 

1812 - London, Byron has returned from his travels and is the Lion du Jour

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F: My lord - me and Mrs. Mule can't be dealing with all these letters - we try to burn most - but Mule says they are so soggy with ladies tears they destroy the sea-coal

B: My sea-coal? Bring them here - perchance they will entertain my less epistle-ized friends - heh heh

F: Them ones are old my Lord

B: Good lord - so they are - why - back to 1809 - before we began our Levantine adventures Fletcher (reads) - oh! this does bring back sorrowful memories - my old friend Falkland - you'll like this Fletcher - he was court-martialled out of the navy for “some irregularity arising from too free a circulation of the bottle" (both laugh) - but was tragically slaughtered in a duel on the Green - ah! 'tis his widow thanking me for a small sum I forwarded for her assistance - sunburn me if my amiable Mama wasn't volcanic in her fury!

F: There's a great stack here in the same hand my Lord

B: They shall have to wait - I have an appointment at my tailors - (sighs) 'tis an awful burthen - given my current cultural prominence - to have to wear the finest and sharpest cut cloth - although Brummel has made things easier by shaming the use of lace - anon Fletcher!

F: Yes my Lord

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B hits Saville Row - to the firm of  John and Thomas Edwards, Tailors 

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JE: Good day your Lordship - we are much relieved to see you - we have not much time (whips out tape)

B: What? what the devil are you on about?

TE: Why, your blue coat, my Lord - we have been directed that it must be as close a fit as possible - esp. over your well-developed shoulders

B: Blue coat? - you are mistaken - blue does nothing for my complexion

JE: We too thought it an odd choice, my Lord - but your betrothed was most insistent that tradition be maintained for your wedding-day

B: My what now?

TE: Her ladyship - well, she was intransigent - the Lady Thyrza - she called herself

B(pales to fury): You will cancel that order - I fear one of my rapscallion comrades is fetching a trick on me - however, I do require 20 pair of new white nankeens - a staff uniform tailcoat - scarlet - superfine, mind! embroidered - and fur-lined pyjamas - at your leisure, gentlemen

E's: Yes my lord

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B strides to Bond Street - grinds teeth and muses re. vengeance - visits Love and Kelty, his jewellers

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L: Good day your Lordship - I am most relieved to see you

B: What? (frowns) - have you my Napoleonic snuffboxes ready?

L: No - to be sure - I was told to halt all production by your good lady, my Lord - she was most insistent

B(thunders): Tell me, what was my good lady's name? was it Lady Thyrza?

L: ‘Tis a good thing you know your own betrothed's name, no? heh - here - see - this is the ring she chose - a fine yellow diamond of 7000 carats - a marvel of nature they say  - yours, plain gold in keeping with your dislike of jewellery, engraved with “Byron, my adored Byron - finally we - and the four children - shall be as one"

B: We are subject to a prank of a most undergraduate nature, which may well have amused at one time - but which will now - I fear - result in some agitation on Golders Green - good day, Love - I am sorry to have depressed your sales figures

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Mr. Love is indeed depressed

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SCENE 3

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B heads to John Hanson - family solicitor and protean embezzler

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H: Good day your lordship - I am most relieved to see you - may I offer...

B: Hanson! - et tu?! - what the devil is the origin of this loathsome hoax re. marriage and myself? I am expecting you to uncover the perpetrator! I will have them transported - unless it's Hobby - or Scrope - or any boon companion - mmm - perchance it's those damned pond-dwelling pantisocrats - they do find my current eminence irksome (dwells)

H: Ah - but I have undeniable proof of your intentions, my Lord - in the lady's own hand (retrieves correspondence) - “I will most joyfully accept your proposal - but remember I must be loved exclusively - and your heart must be all my own. My beloved Byron, you will shun all vices, evil companions and settle down as a husband, father and friend" - look, here's a lock of her greying hair as a pledge of lasting love and amity

B(reads): “signed - your own Thryza - your own Maid of Athens - your own Christina (B pales) Falkland" - by all the gods of Greece and Rome! 'tis the widow of Falkland! - has she gone mad? - I have never seen - or met - her, yet she fancies I wish to marry her? (reads further) - 'twould seem I was driven from these shores despairing she could ever love me - that I was dreaming of but her on my pilgrimage!

H(shifting): Yes, perhaps I should have forwarded her epistles while you were Levanting - there are great stacks of them - she seems to have believed your lack of response was a noble effort to protect her from gossip and slander

B: She is not the first insane female to have crossed my path since my return! oh, for Greece and my less marriageable loves! (is near to tears)

H: 'Tis the loin-inflaming poesy my lord - many a widow, whose once-esteemed husbands lie rotting in their tombs, believe themselves trans-substantially to be your inspiration - (coughs) - to business - erm, the lady has a charming chapel, by the sea, booked - with sons Plantagenet, Lucius and Byron Carey attending - she wants you in your Arnaout garments - but leave off the mustachios - flowers, organist - her mother will arrange

B: Write - write to her demanding my letters back - you shall find no allusions to affection or endearment ever existed between us - I thought only of the support of her children - (raging) - damned if I don't summons her for my £500!

H: She won't be so easily dissuaded - why, she is making her way here this very evening with contracts, settlements etc. 

B: Pfft! - I shall confront this audacious crone without fear or shame! - you shall witness - although, by the god of Scrope Davies - it will doubtless become yet another unmerited scandal by which envious dunces shall yet traduce my name

H: That may well be - but take care - the unstable lady carries her husband's well-oiled Navy-issued Mantons - (loud knock on door) quick, into the safe!

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B climbs into substantial safe, notices many remittances addressed to him - time passes - gunshot and slamming doors are heard

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H(opens safe door): No homicidal harm's been done, my Lord - she just shot the eyes out of your portrait - sit down, for I have good tidings (B sits and scowls at portrait) - now, I shewed her many scented letters in my possession - sent by an unimpeachable source in Melbourne House - itemising your failure to honour other pledges of marriage and elopement - she therefore declared she will no longer be your puppet - that though your hearts and minds are perfectly congenital - your ideas re. long-term relationships prove that you could never be happy together - that's when she shot your portrait

B: Sweet Jesus - will I ever find peace! - perchance I shall retreat to Newstead where I have aught but the girls on my manor to entreat - simple country nymphs who know not the ways of entrapment and deceit

H: Perhaps it would be for the best - at least while the Childe-fever is raging through the blood of lonely society ladies, my Lord

B(puts on hat): Aye - home to my constant little Taffy it is! 

​H: The Welshwoman? (panics, knowing the said strumpet rather too well) - yes, I'll send to Newstead pronto - er, to have Robert put things in order for your arrival (thinks: oons - that blessed yet cursed nobleman will never find peace, nay, not e'en at his own decease)​​​​​​​

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