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Cast

Lord Byron

Hon. Catherine Byron

Mary Anne Bristoe

Elizabeth Pigot

John Pigot

Ann Houson

Dr. Drury​

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Scene 1

 

1804 - Burgage Manor, Southwell

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​B: Madam - I repeat - ‘tis not your company I dislike (kicks fire) - this exorable kennel in which you reside is utterly deranging my nervous system (surreptitiously slurps from brandy naggin)

CB: Och! Byronnne! - you cannot stay at Newstead - it is let to a (is distracted) - handsome, avian-annihilating gentleman, nay a Lord, if you will (paces) - you can’t stay at the Hutt with that scoundrel Mealey - he has the pox! - and you violently refuse to return to school unless I magic-up yet another pony! - God’s socks! - where in Purgatory would you like to reside?! - by Mary Anne Bristoe’s ample fire-side? (snickers)

B: Don’t be absurd Mother, I know her housemaids rather too well (collapses onto sopha) - no - should I prefer the Gaieties of the Metropolis though I detest the smoke and the noise? (sighs) - ye gads! - at this stage, a tenant’s funeral would be a carnival of joys!

CB: Hmm, funerals? (ponders) - why, old Mr. Fletcher is looking quite liverish - so his son William tells me - or some such ploughman’s gibberish

B: Fletcher? - that blockhead? - nay, I sincerely wish for the company of a few friends of my own age (kicks coal bucket) - ow! - d’you know - t’other day, Boatswain bit painfully into my breeches and even that failed to amuse me!

CB: What are you on about? - teenagers - och! don’t all our neighbours enjoy your company in field sports?

B: Neighbours?! They are only one degree removed from the brute creation - Sweet suffering Jesus!! - I am an absolute hermit Mother!! (sinks further into sopha) - my natural Gravity is increasing with my Solitude - any longer and I will qualify for an Archbishoprick

CB: I think you should become a Mitre amazingly well - although you may have to cut back on the picturesque blasphemy and village strumpets

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​Susan the maid enters

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​S: Did you ring for crumpets, Madam?

CB: Nay, you cloth-eared Englishwoman - although - it is coming to tea-time - so, yes, Susan - bring in the requisites

S: Will your Lordship be taking tea?

B: Thank you, but no - I have had several mortifying misadventures re. spilling tea near my testicular regions (sighs) - even such vaudevillian incidents have failed to amuse me - heigh ho, and be damned to it!

S(smiles sweetly): Perchance a jug of rum-punch, my Lord?

CB: Out! - out! - there’ll be no inter-class fraternising in this house! - and keep that bucket under the hole in the kitchen roof - torrents are forecast!

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​CB spies an opportunity - for her son, and for the roof

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​CB: Come now, I shall give a party tonight - invite all the principal Southwell Belles - there’s sure to be a queue! It will act as a fortified cordial on your drooping spirits - and dispel this peevish gloom which currently envelopes you (ruffles his hair)

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​The Byronic Blood gains

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​B(stands and paces): Zounds Madam!! What a superexcellent notion - I shall fall violently in love! (smooths curls) That it will serve as an amusement pour passer le temps and - at best - have the charm of novelty to rouse my spirits, I don’t doubt!

CB: That’s my braw boy - the Gordon blood will out!​

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Scene 2

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​Assembly rooms - the high Society of Southwell is in attendance

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​JP: Byron! Why, we assumed you had returned to Harrow, or some other Gulag of Vice and Unrecoverable Losses

B: Elizabeth (bows) - Pigot (nods) - ‘tis true - I have been neglectful of my social obligations of late, for I have been oppressed with ennui - however - by the tender ministrations of my amiable Mama, that has passed - as you see (glances at various maidens)

JP: Ah! - so, you are here to mingle and pay homage to that mischievous blind god..

ALL: .. love! (all laugh, waggishly)

JP: You’ll agree - there is much here to admire (indicates various misses dancing ‘Bobby Shafto’s Reel’)

EP: Indeed, there is not! - there is no society here but old parsons and prying crones - come, Byron (takes B’s arm) - I shall sing your favourite ‘The Maid of Lodi’

CB(barging): Byronne!!!! - why are you escorting Elizabeth - she is engaged to a Serviceman in the sub-continent (grabs B’s sleeve) - there are unengaged females by the score - although not that Miss Chaworth - she is also engaged, although they say she now regrets it

B(pales and shakes): Who says so?

CB: The ancient ladies of this parish - they have an ungovernable appetite for Scandal

B(in the glooms, again): Love is utter nonsense, a mere jargon of compliments, romance, and deceit; now, for my part, had I fifty mistresses (CB attempts a box on the ear) - ouch! - I mean - in the course of a fortnight, I would forget them all, and if by any chance I ever recollected one, should laugh at it as a dream

JP: I say - is that Miss Houson? - and Miss Mary Anne Bristoe? - toothsome dreams they are, what Byron!? heh heh

B: Och aye - er - damn it! (to self: six years out of Aberdeen and I still sound like a fisher of herrings)

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​A gaggle of Lord-seeking ladies amble over

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​AH: My Lord (curtseys) - pray, do you have any books perchance to lend one? - why, I consume nothing but books, altalases and Latin dictionaries - you know - that kind of thing (curtseys again - quite low)

B(exhales ostentatiously): I fear there are very few books of any kind in Southwell that are either instructive or amusing, Miss Heuson

JP: Miss Heuson (offers arm for the reel - AH sighs and glances at B throughout ‘The Goat Broke Loose’)

MB: Lord Byron (curtseys and twirls) - pray, d’you remember me? - Mary Anne Bristoe? of the second-left-mansion-on-the-village-green Bristoes? (B ponders) - Sally, our char? Lucy, our bedmaker?

B: Indeed - good eve, Miss Bristoe

MB: Your vastly eloquent Mama has been working me for suitability - none too subtly, I own - just the vitals - percents, acreage, mortgages, ready money, titles..

B(bows): I do apologise for such highlanderish brokering about my Name - (grinds teeth and scans room for Mother) - for I am yet in my minority, Miss Bristoe, ‘tis but sixteen summers I can claim

MJ: Don’t mind that, my Lord - it’s the wisest course by far - why delay when two young people are as naturally attracted - as understanding - as we are?

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​CB comes a-barrelling over

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​​CB: That’s enough Missy - we’ve established you have nae means to repair our roof (upends Miss Bristoe into the string quartet)

B: Madam! (glares) - I am here to soar into the Nether Regions of romance! - why - you have not infamously deceived me, perchance?!

CB: The upholsterer has seventeen children, Byron! - an early understanding with a family of means will hold the duns for five years - our legal man Hanson assures me of it! - he has computed the prospects for each of our Belles, I believe - why, God willing, we can arrange a match this very eve

B: Oh thou fiend! I can scarce credit such wanton attempts to auction your only son! Correct this outrage, else I reveal to the company your fruitless passion for Newstead’s avicidal tenant, Lord Grey de Ruthyn - and (triumphantly) your real age!

CB(in a phrenzy): Thou most undutiful wretch in existence! You’re just like your father - ‘tis his blood’s to blame! - you shall end up a true Byrronnne - mad in a French whorehouse with but ten pairs of silk stockings to your name!

B(his rage has plateaued): I owe you respect as a son - Mrs. Byron - but I renounce you as a Friend and this moment shall return to Harrow - (cautions) where no females may follow

CB: And the leaking roof ?- Tatt & Co. upholsterers? Green, Mould & Co. paper hangers? - they are expecting an announcement in the Southwell Parish News! (yells after him) Byronnne!! - an announcement - a pledge which can be broken with minimum financial outlay (he’s still walking) - Byron - save your estate, your name and roof - even Miss Heuson would suit....

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​B departs hurriedly into the night, Miss Bristoe and Miss Heuson can but watch and sigh as the lashing rain bounces off his amiable curls

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​​Scene 3

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​​B returns to Harrow, is greeted by headmaster Dr. Drury

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​​DD: My Lord - thrilled to see you back at school - Dorset and Clare have had the bejesus beaten out of them in your absence

B: Drury! I, too, have suffered heiniously - I have escaped the trammels - or rather fetters - of my domestic tyrant, Mrs. Byron!

DD: Yea, (shakes head) - the lady certainly is prone to take fire, yet not of melting stuff (hauls out pile of Latin grammars) - but for now Byron, you shall have to forego the pleasures of rural delights - contemplating pigs, poultry, pork, pease, potatoes and whatnot - if you are to catch up on your Nominative, Genitive, Dative, Accusative, Ablative, and Vocatives

B: The devil’s balls to Latin, Drury!! That unnatural female arrangement has stigmatised me in terms of the blackest malevolence - and attempted to steal me into matrimony - at a mere sixteen years!

DD: We do not, as yet, have a school counsellor - I feel sure the gentle youths, and luxurious privileges of our Public school will restore you to good humour

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​​A legion of rats run past - are kicked aside by servant

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​DD(to servant): Put those rodents on the luncheon menu (servant lingers) - well, what is it, man?

S: An article has arrived for his Lordship Byron - largish in nature

B: Mother!! (hides)

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​Servant brings in a pony

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​DD(claps hands): There, my Lord! - a Dowager with a wild, coltish son is to be excused her clamours - worse than ocean’s roar though they well may be

B: A fine quadruped! Oh my - it can take me to the swimming pond! (to DD) Indeed - how shabby of me to disparage that generous relict of a Royal line - of whom - in truth - I am quite fond

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​B rushes over to pony, inspects same

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​B: It is not a thoroughbred to be sure - it will suffice, I dare say (rubs pony’s back) - Holy fires! - its back is broken! - how can I ride this! (hurls himself - in tears - onto Drury’s sopha) - she means to torment me yet!!

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​​Pony appears to become apoplectic - its head becomes dislodged

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​​B(jumps): Sink me!!! - Miss Bristoe! Miss Heuson!

Ladies(disgorge themselves): Good day, my Lord!

DD: What is this pantomime? (examines pony’s head) Ladies, your presence will derange the boys - you must leave - quick - in jig time! (listens at door) - quiet! - the swish of petticoats and the scent of carbolic soap will cause another riot!

AH: We shall do no such thing - we have been demanded by the Hon. Mrs. Byron to return his Lordship to Southwell..

MB: .. on the promise that Mr. Hanson shall recalculate our financial suitability for marriage

B: The Devil she is and the Devil I will! - unless it be swallowed up by an earthquake, I shall never return to that abode of antiquated infamy (stamps foot) - which e’en the gentle Reverend Becher is apt to disparage!

AH(with confidence): Susan - the maid - has been using your bath to accommodate the roof leak

B: My copper bath? The same which is marked to track the excellence of my reduction regime?

MB: Aye - also - pray restrain yourself, my Lord - in the next Parish letter, you will learn of Mrs. Byron’s looming nuptials with Lord Grey, the bird-killer

B: Mother - and Grey? - in Newstead? A curse on that treasonable vixen!

MB: Aye - she has promised him a dowry of 1000 fresh pheasants which she shall fund by selling your Mantons and broadswords and Mr. Moore’s funny little books

MB: Oh, and Miss Pigot is leaving for India - to marry, ‘twould seem

B: Elizabeth? leaving? - but she has not knit my purse as yet - or painted my Coat of Arms as she promised

MB: Ah, lawks - oh, and the whole village is gathering up the scraps and scribblings you left about the place to send to Ridge for publishing - with illustrations and admonitions by Reverend Becher

B: My poesy? scraps? - done! - done up ‘ere yet I’m still a boy!

AH: Aye - the Edinburgh Review shall not know you - also, Miss Chaworth - ‘twould seem - is not to marry after all (girls giggle and exchange smirks)

​B(shakes and pales): Mary? - my Mary? - my paradise - can it be? - shall I dwell there yet?

​DD: Young Byron - ‘twould appear you have many manorial matters - exclusive of matrimony - which demand your attention (replaces the Latin grammars) - perhaps come back next term - I will have Dorset and Clare hide in the coal cellar in the meantime

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​​​A ruckus is heard in the hall

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​​​DD: Ladies (panicking) - back into the pony - sharpish!

AH: But the head keeps falling off! (proffers same) - what are we meant to do with this?

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​DD shoves a wriggling B into the forepart of the pony - the girls follow

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​DD: There! very convincing - you three shall be able to trot unmolested past the boys (slaps rump of unconvincing animal) - come now, pronto pronto - and make no noise!

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B catches the scent of stewing rodents and the sound of schoolboy bones cracking

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​B: That’s settled - to Southwell! - Mary-Ann - don’t grab my waist so tight - actually we - aye - will re-arrange our positions - Anne - no - you go on this side - will we go back or toward? - advance Mary-Ann! - mind my nankeens - no, forward! (to self: wait for me, my beloved Mary, ‘ere my heart skips a beat!!) - mind where you turn - Miss Houson, really! (to self: my, that is a remarkable feat!)

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​The pony picks up speed as it heads towards Southwell and the diabolically unscrupulous inhabitant of Burgage Manor​​​​​

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END​​

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