Work Text:
CHARACTERS
Isabella: 22. Newly married to Edward.
Edward: 28.
Robert: 30. Has been married to Eliza for 4 years.
Eliza: 24.
SCENE ONE : ISABELLA AND EDWARD'S PARLOUR. THEY ARE SEATED ACROSS FROM ONE ANOTHER IN CHAIRS. IT IS A FULLY DECORATED LIVING ROOM FROM THE EARLY 1900S - DESK, CHAIRS, FIREPLACE. THERE IS A DOOR UPSTAGE THAT GOES OUTSIDE AND A DOOR STAGE RIGHT THAT GOES TO THE BEDROOMS OF THE HOUSE. THEY ARE UPPER CLASS AND WELL DRESSED. ISABELLA IS STITCHING, EDWARD IS READING A BOOK. THE YEAR IS 1903. EDWARD IS READING A COPY OF THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
ISABELLA
You love that man more than me.
EDWARD
(Shocked, he nearly drops the book.)
What? Who? What are you talking about?
ISABELLA
(Gesturing with her stitching.)
Sherlock Holmes. You've been reading it all day. You haven't looked up from it at all.
EDWARD
(Smoothing his jacket out, breathing returning to normal.)
Well, yes, it's quite...engaging. He's been gone a few years.
ISABELLA
(She pauses a few moments to stitch, then continues speaking.)
He just brought him back to life, just like that?
EDWARD
He died, to save Watson. He came back.
ISABELLA
Must have loved him. To die and come back.
EDWARD
(Smooths the book out and looks at it.)
It's quite something, to leave like that for someone that you love.
ISABELLA
(She looks into the distance for a moment, then looks at him.)
Yes, it would be. I need to put this away and go for a walk in the back garden. There are some flowers I want to pick for the table setting. Is that agreeable?
EDWARD
(Not making eye contact, he nods, continuing to look down at his book. When she leaves, he goes to his desk, pulling out a paper. He takes out his copy of The Strand, obviously copying a part of the story onto the page. He is so engrossed he doesn't hear his wife return with an armful of flowers. She arranges them on a side table, and then turns to him, reading over his shoulder.)
ISABELLA
(Reading out loud over his shoulder.)
It can be imagined that my close intimacy with Sherlock Holmes had interested me deeply in crime-
EDWARD
(Jumping up, taking his paper with him.)
What are you doing?
ISABELLA
Just seeing what you're writing!
EDWARD
I'm... I'm copying the story for a friend.
ISABELLA
I didn't realize it was private.
(She looks down at the newspaper still on the desk. She picks it up.)
Can't your friend just get a copy? Or you give him your copy?
EDWARD
(He doesn't say anything, but holds the paper to his chest.)
I was writing the best parts to share, the parts that were interesting to me.
ISABELLA
(She stares at him for a moment. They have only been married three months and were relatively strangers when they were married.)
You don't have to be embarrassed by anything. If you want to share the story with him that way, that's fine.
EDWARD
(Debating with himself how much to share with her.)
This is how we've always shared the stories. We read them, and then write to one another our favorite parts.
ISABELLA
(She pulls out the chair, tapping the back of it, gesturing for him to sit down.)
Sit, show me. You've done this for years?
EDWARD
(He looks at her, unsure, but sits in the desk. He pulls out a wrapped set of letters, tied with a string. There are at least fifty.)
We've read the stories together since we were children. Since they came out, before either one of us were married. For 16 years now.
ISABELLA
(She watches him closely. Then speaks softly, her hand on his shoulder.)
You've not told me about him.
EDWARD
You've never asked.
ISABELLA
Is this the man who was at the wedding, in the back, dressed in the same suit coat as you?
EDWARD
(He stares ahead of himself a moment, then turns to look up at her, nodding.)
Robert.
(He says simply, clutching the letters to his chest.)
ISABELLA
(She smiles at him, kindly, trying to get him to open up.)
He looked as if he wanted to skin me alive, Edward. He wouldn't look at me. He looked only at you, and when I went to greet him, he left before anyone else.
EDWARD
(Softly.)
I hadn't noticed.
ISABELLA
You did, Edward. You watched him the entire day.
(She watches him a moment. Then pats his letters.)
Finish your letter. He'll be wanting to know how this one ends.
Isabella walks out of the room, leaving the door stage right, taking the flowers with her as she leaves. The lights dim slightly as Edward continues writing, copying words from The Strand into his letter.
SCENE TWO: ROBERT'S BEDROOM. ROBERT IS ALONE ON HIS BED, WHICH IS NOW DOWNSTAGE. HE IS READING THE LETTER OUT LOUD FROM EDWARD. ELIZA IS SINGING IN THE BACKGROUND, GETTING READY FOR BED.
ROBERT
(Giddy with school boy excitement, reading the letter with his legs tucked up in front of him.)
"When I turned again Sherlock Holmes was standing smiling at me across my study table. I rose to my feet, stared at him for some seconds in utter amazement, and then it appears that I must have fainted for the first and the last time in my life. Certainly a gray mist swirled before my eyes, and when it cleared I found my-"
(At this he falters, looking over his shoulder to see that Eliza is not near him, then continues to read.)
"-collar ends undone and the tingling after-taste of brandy upon my lips.
Holmes was bending over my chair, his flask in his hand."
(Robert reads the next lines as if a love letter, as if poetry, written just to him, and not a story written in a newspaper.)
" 'My Dear Watson,' said the well-remembered voice, 'I owe you a thousand apologies. I had no idea you would be so affected.' "
(He holds the letter in his fingers, then puts it to his lips, to his nose, smelling it, looking it over. He continues with Edward's review of the passage.)
How the brandy was all that was left on John Watson's lips, and the collar was opened? What can we deduce about this small reunion, a man so happy to see his very best friend, his confirmed bachelor, that he loses all senses and falls unto the ground? Revived only by what we can assume is-"
(Eliza enters, smiling. She is still singing. He pulls the letter away, trying to hide it from her.)
ELIZA
Are you not done with his letter yet? I thought with a new story it might be a longer letter than usual.
(She walks to the bed, punching up the pillows.)
Do you want me to leave?
ROBERT
No, it's fine.
ELIZA
(She comes over to him and gives him a kiss on the head.)
I know you were deathly afraid of him getting married. I am not an idiot.
ROBERT
I never said you were.
ELIZA
Then don't pretend that I am blind. I know what kind of man you are, Robert.
ROBERT
(His hands begin to shake, the letter crumpling in his hands.)
You never-
ELIZA
Now stop shaking, I am the last person you need to be afraid of. You'll ruin your letter. Finish it tonight if you want, I won't tease you.
ROBERT
(Watches her a moment.)
You don't mind?
ELIZA
Of course I don't mind. I've watched you cry, and laugh, and every emotion in between through these letters between you and him. I know what he is to you. It's 16 years. I won't stop you. He was yours before I ever came into the picture.
ROBERT
(He looks at the letter, but can't bring himself to read it. Eliza smiles at him, and leaves the room. He continues reading the letter when she has left the room.)
"Revived only by what we can assume is the most intimate of gestures, we see the text only after he is awakened. Does the writer not tell us the whole story because of the charges against Oscar Wilde, so he himself is afraid to tell us everything? Are we left only with a glimmer of what they are to one another, brandy on the lips and collar-ends undone? For a whole universe can be told between those sentences, what happened in between one sentence and the next, the return of one great friend to another. The fight to be whole when you have to hide yourself away under someone you are not, to give yourself to someone you do not belong to, in order to be kept safe. In the blank lines, that is where the story is hidden."
(Robert takes the letter, holds it to his lips, and then pulls a stack of letters out from under his mattress. He adds this letter to the stack of them, wrapping them up with ribbon.)
End Scene.