Likeness by David Caudle

Likeness

In colonial Boston, an idealistic young artist is hired to paint an idealized portrait of a wealthy landowner’s daughter, as tensions rise over the passage of the Stamp Act.

(A barn on a country estate on the outskirts of colonial Boston, Massachusetts. August 1765.

Morning light streams in through a small high window and penetrates cracks in the door of the otherwise darkened wooden structure.

The large door creaks open, revealing the silhouette of a slight young man in well-made but worn attire.

It is EDMUND FARRADAY, a young 24. He compensates for thin arms with meaty words, of which he has a quick command. His precocious arrogance, high-strung nervous energy, and petulant defensiveness mask a sincere striving for the highest of ideals.

The light reveals a long wooden table against the back wall, and a few rickety stools.

FARRADAY drops his knapsack on the floor and looks around, confused.

He frees some straw from his shoe, lifts his foot to smell the shoe, and winces.

FARRADAY picks up his knapsack, wipes it off gingerly, and sets it on the table. He looks around again, sighs, and exits.

After a moment, he returns, followed by MARCUS, 17, who drags a large crate.

FARRADAY leans down to help him.)

MARCUS Careful, sir. You’ll sully yourself.

FARRADAY I was told to set up . . . here? That is for me, is it not?

MARCUS Yes, master.

FARRADAY It rode alongside me in the cart, but we were never properly introduced.

MARCUS You and . . . this box?

FARRADAY I mean, it has no marking. Here, let me help.

MARCUS I can do it myself.

(FARRADAY pats a purse around his neck.)

FARRADAY I’m afraid I haven’t much in the way of—

MARCUS Oh, I don’t mind.

FARRADAY Thank you.

MARCUS If it’s not much, I mean.

FARRADAY Ah. Well. All right.

(FARRADAY pulls a coin from his measly purse.)

MARCUS Thank you kindly. I’m called Marcus, master.

FARRADAY Don’t call me master. I vehemently object to the state you find yourself in.

MARCUS State?

FARRADAY Your . . . circumstances . . . indentured to the property?

MARCUS Not so. I’m as free as you. But as I’m your ’prentice—

FARRADAY Ah, my apprentice. Excellent. But the only thing I care to “master” is my own craft. Call me Edmund.

MARCUS Will “sir” do?

FARRADAY If you feel more comfortable. Where is Mr. Westerley? Does he know I’ve arrived?

MARCUS Surely. What can I do first, sir?

FARRADAY Clearly, the first order of business would be to open this.

(MARCUS pulls brand new brushes, pots, palette knives, bottles, and pigments from the crate.)

MARCUS It’ll be a shame to get ’em dirty.

FARRADAY Arrange them on this table. Here. I’ll help.

(FARRADAY handles the new tools with a devotion he tries to hide.)

MARCUS How’s that?

FARRADAY Fine. We’ll leave one end clear for mixing pigments.

MARCUS Pig what ?

FARRADAY How did you come to be chosen for this post?

MARCUS Word went ’round that you were coming and would want help. I asked Smith to put my name in. And he did. And Mr. Westerley agreed to take me out.

FARRADAY Out of what?

MARCUS The fields. I work the fields with my father and brothers. Mr. Westerley agreed and took me out. Me being the runt of the litter, he don’t lose much by it.

FARRADAY I see. Though I do gain much, I’m sure.

MARCUS You’re very kind, sir.

FARRADAY And you’re very wise, to want out of the fields in August.

(MARCUS rattles the bottles.)

FARRADAY Have a care, now. If a job is worth doing, it is worth doing slowly. I mean, well . Not slowly. Not always. That would be tedious.

MARCUS Yes, sir.

FARRADAY Is there anything else? Was it only this trunk?

MARCUS This came t’other day. And these.

(MARCUS drags a large easel, some stretcher frames, and a roll of brown linen from under the table.)

FARRADAY You may unpack my personal brushes as well. We’ll mark the handles to distinguish them before they all intermingle.

(FARRADAY opens his bundle on the table. MARCUS removes FARRADAY ’s tools, which are stained and worn.)

MARCUS I don’t think we’ll mistake ’em.

FARRADAY All the same.

MARCUS You’ll see, I’ll be the best ’prentice you ever had. I like to draw, too, when I can get a bit of paper. Once I made a pretty fair picture of the cart-horse, only the leg joints were bent in the wrong direction. Of course, a real horse with such legs would surely topple . . . I don’t pretend I can do what you do, but I can help you to do it, and that makes me part of it, and my mum says I should try to do something in life that I can be proud to be a part of, and if this ain’t it, I should like to know how I could do better!

FARRADAY You’re ready enough to fill any voids that may appear in conversation.

MARCUS Beg your pardon, sir.

FARRADAY When we’re quiet, we may listen and learn. You’re a lucky lad, Marcus. I’ll show you that painting is the ultimate expression of what is beautiful. What is true.

Truth and Beauty, Beauty and Truth, May these virtues be forever entwined. Oh, hold fast to them in your youth. But in death, please leave them behind.

MARCUS That’s lovely.

FARRADAY Thank you, I wrote it myself. And with my brush, I will champion Truth and Beauty. Only with pigments in medium can one create such life, such depth, to last for all eternity. It is all to do with layers, Marcus.

MARCUS Layers?

FARRADAY Slowly, carefully—nay—lovingly applied. Layer by layer. Shadows and structure first. Then, gentle as whispers, the colors. You know, you’re made up of many colors, Marcus.

MARCUS It’s only the spots. They go away when the weather cools.

FARRADAY Our subject is the young lady of the household. A child of sixteen. She will have a complexion of mother-of-pearl, blush and cream. I will strew the colors across the canvas like petals. Caressing the cloth as one would a downy cheek. Tell me about her.

MARCUS Miss Westerley?

FARRADAY Yes. Miss Westerley. My subject. My muse. Tell me.

MARCUS Well, the painting of course is for her future husband in England. He’s called “Sir” Something, and owns a great property. And our young miss will be called “Lady” Something and keep her own carriage in London.

FARRADAY But what is she like? Her aspect? Walk? How does she incline her head?

MARCUS . . .

FARRADAY Short? Tall? Squat? Lithe? Fair? Brown? Paint her portrait for me, Marcus. Not with pigments, but with words.

MARCUS It’s not my place, sir.

FARRADAY I don’t ask you to form an opinion, but merely describe her empirically.

MARCUS Empirically ?

(MR. WESTERLEY enters. His authority is so absolute, he need not make a show of it in most circumstances.)

MR. WESTERLEY Finding everything to your satisfaction, Master Farraday?

FARRADAY Yes, Mr. Westerley, thank you. Smith showed me my room. And Lucy, I believe—

MR. WESTERLEY In the scullery, yes?

FARRADAY She left a porridge out for me.

MR. WESTERLEY Lucy makes an excellent porridge.

FARRADAY I imagined, if it were warm, it would be a peerless porridge.

MR. WESTERLEY Did you pass a pleasant night in the town at my expense?

FARRADAY Pleasant? I . . . suppose, yes. Yes.

MR. WESTERLEY Don’t you like Boston? Well? Speak up.

FARRADAY I must say, I was a bit . . . alarmed.

MR. WESTERLEY Oh?

FARRADAY Some of the talk I heard. This new tax that’s to be imposed.

MR. WESTERLEY The Stamp Act. Perhaps the news did not reach you in the dim outer regions of Rhode Island. But yes, there will be a tax on paper, and yes, it does have its opponents.

FARRADAY Many, it seems.

MR. WESTERLEY Rats will multiply. But you’ll never catch ’em in the light of day, reading their John Locke, or that infernal Rousseau.

FARRADAY Rousseau, sir?

MR. WESTERLEY Don’t tell me you read his rot.

FARRADAY No, but—

MR. WESTERLEY Intellectuals, filling people’s head with ideas where none should be. And then, what do the cowards do with their ideas? Where do they meet? Scurrying about, hiding in dark corners. Plotting in closed shops and disreputable taverns.

FARRADAY But, if they are plotting, there must be an eventual . . . event, mustn’t there?

MR. WESTERLEY Whose side are you on, Farraday?

FARRADAY I confess I’ve not been well enough informed to fully understand my beliefs in this matter.

MR. WESTERLEY I don’t ask your beliefs, I ask where you stand.

FARRADAY Are they not the same question?

MR. WESTERLEY If you’re in my employ, you stand by the Crown. And you reap the rewards. A decent wage. A well-appointed room under a dry roof. Nothing to sneeze at.

FARRADAY Certainly not.

MR. WESTERLEY And it’s a good bed, you’ll find. Meets your spine halfway.

FARRADAY Wonderful—

MR. WESTERLEY You may take your meals with the family, if you like.

FARRADAY That is very good of you.

MR. WESTERLEY If we chance to be dining together. My daughter and her governess take their meals upstairs. I am often from home overseeing matters, with my niece, as sort of a secretary.

FARRADAY Perhaps, when you are at home . . .

MR. WESTERLEY Then, my niece and I usually dine in the library and answer letters. Lucy would welcome your company over a hot something at any time, I’m sure. A cozy nook, the scullery is, and for a dining companion, Lucy is capital—if you can hold off looking at what God’s left her in the way of teeth.

FARRADAY I’m inclined in these balmy days to dine out of doors.

MR. WESTERLEY You artists do have your peculiarities.

(MARCUS almost drops a pot.)

MR. WESTERLEY If the boy doesn’t suit you, I can inquire further.

FARRADAY Well, sir, he does lack . . . that is . . .

MR. WESTERLEY Yes? Say the word, and he’s back in the fields. Not that he’s much good there, either.

FARRADAY I mean to say he lacks experience . . . but not enthusiasm.

MR. WESTERLEY As long as you’re satisfied.

FARRADAY I thank . . . and commend you, Mr. Westerley. It takes a man of great vision to entrust this delicate undertaking to a new and untried commodity such as myself.

MR. WESTERLEY Why not? No one says a word against you.

FARRADAY Nor for me. That is the point. I have not yet achieved the renown of Copley, or Blackburn.

MR. WESTERLEY You’ll soon eclipse them.

FARRADAY I only mean, it takes genius to recognize genius.

MR. WESTERLEY Well! There’s a compliment in there for at least one of us. My daughter will come sit for you after luncheon.

FARRADAY What? Here?

MR. WESTERLEY Can’t have you tracking your mucky gear through the house. Boy, finish there and tell Smith we want a chair for Miss Westerley.

MARCUS Yes, sir.

MR. WESTERLEY After luncheon, then.

FARRADAY It will be an excellent likeness. I assure you.

MR. WESTERLEY Yes. Within reason.

FARRADAY Excuse me?

MR. WESTERLEY You’re a man. You know what we like.

FARRADAY I’ll copy what I see.

MR. WESTERLEY Right. Only better .

FARRADAY My brush tells the truth.

MR. WESTERLEY The truth may be made more palatable. You understand.

FARRADAY Would Copley do it? Would Blackburn?

MR. WESTERLEY Why, that is precisely what they do. Routinely.

FARRADAY I have the utmost respect for those gentlemen, and—

MR. WESTERLEY Cowards.

FARRADAY Cowards!?

MR. WESTERLEY Copley’s scared witless of these blowhard rebels. Courting favor with some artists’ society in England. Sniffing out a British bride to carry him off in her petticoats.

FARRADAY John Singleton Copley is a great artist! He transcends these petty considerations of politics, and I cannot have him maligned.

MR. WESTERLEY Prickly little fellow, aren’t you? Copley will turn tail and flee, and there it is. The field. Wide open. For you, Farraday. I can lay Boston society at your feet. All you have to do is make one small daughter look a perfect posy.

(MR. WESTERLEY exits.)

FARRADAY Marcus, what sort of looking girl is Miss Westerley? Answer me. You have surely seen her many a time.

MARCUS Only from across the fields. She looks ever so lovely from across the fields.

(Lights fade.)

(Early afternoon, the same day. An armchair is set up in a clear, well-lit spot. On either side of the chair stands a low stool with an unlit lantern.

FARRADAY gathers his sketch paper and materials.

MARCUS coats a stretched linen canvas with white primer, using brisk sideways strokes.)

FARRADAY Do you know the meaning of the word “spasmodic”?

MARCUS I think so, sir.

FARRADAY If ever you find that your strokes can be described by that word, put the brush down immediately. Do you understand?

(MARCUS proceeds again, slower. FARRADAY mimes the proper strokes behind MARCUS’s back. Catching himself, he folds his arms.)

Gentler. Firmer. That’s the key. Pretend the canvas is . . . the flank of the cart-horse. He’s toppled, from that infirmity of the legs that you told me about. He lies there on the turf, panting. Perhaps in pain. Perhaps ashamed. Wanting comfort. Comfort your horse, Marcus. Yes. Yes, that’s it.

MARCUS I see, sir, thank you! And you remembered what I said to you about the horse. That’s very kind of you, sir. Most times my stories end with my telling of them, and never get mentioned more. I sometimes wonder if I ever have spoken, or if I’m only thinking so hard that I hear the echo in my head.

FARRADAY Go to, now. You must coat it all at once, or it will dry unevenly and create unwanted texture.

(MARCUS begins again, hurriedly.)

The horse is suffering!

(MISS PRESTON enters. She is modestly fashionable and rather somber.)

MARCUS She’s come.

(MISS PRESTON beckons MARCUS to her. He leaps to his feet.)

FARRADAY Don’t leave it—!

(FARRADAY finishes coating the canvas.

MISS PRESTON whispers to MARCUS. Using bits of drapery, he creates a path from the door to the chair.

MISS PRESTON nods her approval, then nods toward someone outside.)

MISS PRESTON (announcing) Miss Wester—

MARCUS Miss West—

MISS PRESTON Miss Westerley.

(MISS PRESTON steps aside to admit MISS WESTERLEY, 16, a wispy, ethereal figure straining under an enormous powdered wig topped by a model schooner in full sail, its masts flying small British flags.

Her robe á la française shimmers amid the rustic surroundings.

She looks around the space, and at FARRADAY, who finishes the coat of white, with his back still to her.

Preparing himself for her probable lack of beauty, FARRADAY turns around.

MISS WESTERLEY nods at him as deeply as her schooner allows. He is awed by her grace and opulence.)

FARRADAY Welcome, Miss . . . Oh! Mr. Westerley’s niece ?

MISS PRESTON Miss Westerley is Mr. Westerley’s daughter. His niece is called Mrs. Mapes.

FARRADAY Mrs. Mapes? Oh, I’m sorry. I thought . . . has he more than one daught— . . . This Miss Westerley, is my subject?

MISS PRESTON Are you quite well, sir? Miss Westerley is her father’s one and only offspring. She is the subject of the portrait and is come to sit.

FARRADAY (hugely relieved, cheerful) Of course, excuse me, my dear ladies, I . . . had no breakfast. Edmund Farraday, at your service.

MISS PRESTON And I am called Miss Preston.

FARRADAY Ah. I feel as if I’ve seen your face before.

MISS PRESTON There are many faces like it.

FARRADAY To an untrained eye, perhaps.

MISS PRESTON Train your eye upon Miss Westerley. Her face is your business here.

(MISS WESTERLEY moves toward the chair. MISS PRESTON holds up her own petticoat and steps on the pieces of the makeshift path to free them, as MISS WESTERLEY’s train drags them behind her.

MARCUS restores the path behind them.)

FARRADAY If you will permit, Miss Westerley. I will begin today by sketching some studies. I will ask you kindly to hold certain positions for a reasonable period. You may find attitudes that feel comfortable to you and easily sustainable. When you have found such a one, I will place myself advantageously and proceed. Do you understand?

(MISS WESTERLEY nods.

MISS PRESTON draws the girl’s train to one side. MISS WESTERLEY sits, adjusts herself, and nods.)

MISS PRESTON You may proceed.

FARRADAY I will do my humble best to render faithfully . . . Well, to work!

(FARRADAY begins to sketch.

He beckons MARCUS to him and points to the lanterns flanking the chair. MARCUS lights them.

The room is silent except for the scratching of FARRADAY’s charcoal crayon on the rough paper.

MARCUS stands at the ready but can’t take his eyes off MISS WESTERLEY. It clearly bothers her.)

MISS PRESTON Must the boy remain?

FARRADAY I may require his assistance.

MISS PRESTON Might he refrain, then, from looking upon Miss Westerley?

(MARCUS looks for other places to look. After a while, MISS WESTERLEY glances toward MISS PRESTON, then toward the lanterns.)

MISS PRESTON Might these lanterns be extinguished?

FARRADAY I do require the light, I’m afraid. They may stand at more of a distance, perhaps. Slightly.

(Eyes averted from MISS WESTERLEY, MARCUS moves one stool slowly.)

FARRADAY There. No further.

(MARCUS moves the other one the same distance.)

FARRADAY Very well. Thank you, Marcus.

(More sketching. More silence. MISS WESTERLEY glances toward MISS PRESTON again.)

MISS PRESTON May more air be admitted?

FARRADAY There is but the one door.

(MISS PRESTON fans MISS WESTERLEY.)

MISS PRESTON Might the boy assist?

FARRADAY Certainly.

(MARCUS folds a large sheet of paper in half to stiffen it. He waves it energetically at MISS WESTERLEY, who grasps her schooner with brief alarm.)

MISS PRESTON A gentle stirring of the air will suffice.

(MISS WESTERLEY returns her arm to its resting place. MARCUS fans more slowly, looking toward MISS WESTERLEY to see if it is all right. MISS PRESTON clears her throat, reminding MARCUS to look away. He complies and continues fanning.)

FARRADAY I would have gladly come to you. It is close out, being the very height of summer.

(a long silence)

I’m told you recently celebrated a birthday. The world has been brightened by your presence a full sixteen years now. May I offer my humble well-wishes? You may speak if you like. When it’s best that you remain silent, I shall not address you.

(another lengthy pause)

I would like for you to know, miss, I am quite willing to make an ocean voyage, should my services be wanted. That is, if you’re pleased with my work here, I should be most happy to come to you in England. You may wish to add your own personal touch to the many walls of your new home. I also paint landscapes. And bowls of fruit. I should be only too happy.

MISS PRESTON Miss Westerley thanks you kindly, but would rather you did not speak to her.

FARRADAY Oh. I beg her pardon.

(FARRADAY continues sketching. MISS WESTERLEY nods to MISS PRESTON again and makes an upward gesture with her eyes and chin.

MISS PRESTON takes a tapered ivory wand out of her reticule. She inserts it into MISS WESTERLEY’s wig just at the scalp, scratching what seems by the girl’s blinked orders to be a persistent and widespread itch. Lights fade.)

(Late afternoon. Light streams in at a lower angle. All remain in their places. Only MARCUS betrays fatigue, fanning MISS WESTERLEY rather sporadically. MR. WESTERLEY enters with MRS. MAPES, 60, who clings to his arm with marked familiarity.)

MR. WESTERLEY Well now! How do we get on?

FARRADAY Miss Westerley is a remarkable subject. She barely breathes.

MR. WESTERLEY Good girl. Farraday, Mrs. Mapes. My niece. Mrs. Mapes, meet Master Farraday. The great artist.

MRS. MAPES How do you do?

FARRADAY How do you do?

MISS PRESTON Sir, we lose the light. I hope we’ve sat long enough for one day.

MR. WESTERLEY I’ll decide that. By the by, Miss Preston, I’ve told you time and again not to disturb me in the library.

MISS PRESTON Excuse me?

MR. WESTERLEY Smith saw you skulking about.

MISS PRESTON Looking for you. To escort Miss Westerley to the sitting.

MR. WESTERLEY Well, don’t be always skulking about the library, you hear?

MISS PRESTON I merely tapped at the door. Receiving no response, I went away. If that is what Smith calls skulking—

MR. WESTERLEY Anyway, I never said I’d come with you first thing.

MISS PRESTON Forgive me. I misunderstood.

MR. WESTERLEY (noticing the makeshift path) What is this rubbish here?

FARRADAY We wished to protect her gown. The floor . . .

MR. WESTERLEY Quite right. But this won’t do. Look sharp, boy! Go in and ask Smith for a couple of hall carpets. Quick, now!

MARCUS Yes, sir.

(MARCUS runs out.)

MISS PRESTON You’ll like to know, sir, that Miss Westerley’s gown was religiously protected.

MR. WESTERLEY I should hope so, for what I paid.

MISS PRESTON She does look very well in it, does she not?

MR. WESTERLEY A perfect posy. A perfect posy, indeed.

(FARRADAY sees MISS WESTERLEY smile for the very first time.)

MISS PRESTON Her comfort here was sought in every way.

MR. WESTERLEY Braved the heat all right, did you, my girl?

MISS PRESTON Her experience was quite tolerable.

MR. WESTERLEY Thank you, Miss Preston.

MISS PRESTON I am not solely responsible. Master Farraday was most courteous and attentive.

FARRADAY Thank you, Miss Preston.

MR. WESTERLEY Let’s have a look, shall we?

(MR. WESTERLEY and MRS. MAPES carefully study each sketch.

MARCUS enters with some rugs. He and FARRADAY create a new path from the chair to the door.)

MRS. MAPES Just that lovely.

(MRS. MAPES whispers something, then glides coyly off to a distance.)

MR. WESTERLEY Mrs. Mapes would like to sit for you.

MRS. MAPES What are you about, Uncle?

MR. WESTERLEY You will sit for our genius.

FARRADAY Now?

MR. WESTERLEY Certainly not. After our present business is concluded.

MISS PRESTON Shall we return to that business, then?

MRS. MAPES What, are you going to put me in a painting?

FARRADAY Was that not your request?

MRS. MAPES I’ve ever longed to be painted like Joan of Arc.

MR. WESTERLEY I won’t have you portrayed as a doomed nobody.

MRS. MAPES She was not a nobody.

MR. WESTERLEY She was a Catholic. And a Frenchwoman.

MRS. MAPES She was a lovely bit of divine something or other. Cut—or shall I say cooked —down in her first youth.

MISS PRESTON Here is your daughter, sir, who patiently awaits your will. Master Farraday, you no longer require these lanterns?

FARRADAY No. Thank you.

(MISS PRESTON leans down to extinguish a lantern near MISS WESTERLEY.)

There! I knew I was right. The Swan and Lion!

MR. WESTERLEY What’s that?

FARRADAY Where I’d seen Miss Preston. In the dining room.

MRS. MAPES Her, there?

MISS PRESTON No.

FARRADAY You leaned in and extinguished the lantern at your table. Just as now. I remember it perfectly.

MISS PRESTON You’re mistaken.

MRS. MAPES Our Miss Preston, at the Swan and Lion?

MISS PRESTON Absolutely not.

MR. WESTERLEY I put you up at the Beacon.

FARRADAY The Beacon had a guest who preferred to stay on. They placed me at the Swan and Lion at no extra cost. I didn’t like to trouble you with the detail.

MR. WESTERLEY Well, Preston? Was Master Farraday mistaken?

MISS PRESTON There can be no doubt of it. I never left my charge last night.

FARRADAY That is odd. I do pride myself on knowing faces.

MISS PRESTON I don’t mean to slight your expertise, sir. But no respectable woman would ever be seen in such a place.

FARRADAY Oh—

MR. WESTERLEY No. She would extinguish the lantern at her table first.

MISS PRESTON This is highly insulting, and I won’t dignify it.

FARRADAY I . . . suppose I saw someone like Miss Preston . . .

MR. WESTERLEY (to MISS WESTERLEY) Well, girl? You can settle the matter. Was your Miss Preston with you all night, as she claims?

(All watch her for the answer.)

MISS WESTERLEY Yes. All night. As always.

MR. WESTERLEY Miss Preston, you’ve been maligned. Let me be the first to apologize.

MRS. MAPES I know I never believed it.

FARRADAY Really, I’d no idea—

MISS PRESTON Never mind. Miss Westerley has been waiting patiently—

MR. WESTERLEY Take her to her rooms.

MISS PRESTON May she not look upon the fruit of her labor?

MR. WESTERLEY She’ll see it when I say and not a moment—

MISS PRESTON You wish to surprise her, then?

MR. WESTERLEY Just so. I don’t want you looking at the painting until it’s done, you hear? Both of you.

MISS PRESTON A surprise planned in secret brings pleasure, as I’m sure you intend. But where there is no secret, there is a diminishing taint of suspense.

MR. WESTERLEY Picking it apart along the way would take even more fun out of it. No peeking, and that’s an order.

MISS PRESTON Yes, sir.

MR. WESTERLEY Good. Well sat, girl. Lucy will bring up supper.

MISS PRESTON Very good, sir.

(MISS WESTERLEY and MISS PRESTON rustle out the door using the new path of clean rugs.

MR. WESTERLEY scrutinizes the sketches, as MARCUS folds the scraps of the previous makeshift path.)

FARRADAY You should know, sir . . . I could hardly form a true understanding of your daughter. I was not permitted to . . . have any sort of interchange, of any kind.

MR. WESTERLEY She’s not much used to strangers.

FARRADAY But I must receive more than surface impressions of my subject, if I’m to capture her true essence. Until just now, I had yet to hear her very voice.

MRS. MAPES Miss Preston’s taught the girl to scorn everybody.

FARRADAY If Miss Preston could be instructed not to interfere—

MR. WESTERLEY She spoke kindly of you.

FARRADAY Yes. That was very correct of her. But she is so very correct that . . . Such coldness kills creativity.

MRS. MAPES Her, at the Swan and Lion? I’d almost have to respect the woman.

FARRADAY I regret any inadvertent aspersion I may have cast on her. But, if I’m to do my work effectively, future sittings must be of an altogether more open character.

MR. WESTERLEY Sounds like you’re making excuses, Farraday. But don’t bother. I found one I like.

(MR. WESTERLEY holds up a sketch.)

FARRADAY Directly forward? That is rather a static view, sir.

MR. WESTERLEY Then why did you take it?

FARRADAY For a clear understanding . . . dimensionally . . .

MR. WESTERLEY I like it. As to her coiffure. That is, the ship. I suppose you omitted it here in the interest of time. But in the painting, Sir James must be able to clearly make out the British flags at the masts.

FARRADAY Then you do wish me to include the ship?

MR. WESTERLEY Why else would she wear it? To dazzle her governess?

FARRADAY Don’t you find it a bit—

MR. WESTERLEY It’s my money. If I say, you’ll paint a teapot on her head.

MRS. MAPES La, you’re in a pet today, Uncle. I’ll not turn my back to you.

MR. WESTERLEY This is the one to paint. Adding the ship.

FARRADAY (confidentially to MR. WESTERLEY) Very well. And may I say, sir, your daughter is not at all—I see no outward reason to alter . . . to improve upon—

MR. WESTERLEY There’s the notch.

FARRADAY Sir?

MR. WESTERLEY She had a break as a child. Fell over her mother’s sewing box or some such. Hit her nose on something or other.

MRS. MAPES Swelled up like a gourd. Two blackened eyes.

MR. WESTERLEY That notch in her nose. I never notice it now. But you caught it. Remarkable, Farraday. Really. Remarkable.

FARRADAY Thank you, sir.

MR. WESTERLEY So. Eliminate the notch.

(FARRADAY grudgingly complies.)

FARRADAY I do not improve upon Nature, but rather restore it. The accident was certainly not her fault. And the notch is not overly prominent in any case.

MR. WESTERLEY A speech worthy of Copley. Now soften the chin. Enlarge the eyes.

FARRADAY Sir, you don’t mean it!

MRS. MAPES She could quarter a lamb with that chin.

FARRADAY It is a trifle sharp. But—

MR. WESTERLEY And the eyes. She looks to be in a perpetual semi-swoon.

FARRADAY I find them distinguished, rather.

MRS. MAPES And her lips, so thin and angular—

FARRADAY Feature by feature there may be anomalies, but on the whole, together, they create a rather . . . harmonious visage. MRS. MAPES Oh, la, he’s infatuated.

MR. WESTERLEY Do you defy me?

FARRADAY I am neither infatuated nor defiant. But your daughter looks well as she is. I need not compromise my beliefs—

MR. WESTERLEY Beliefs be hanged!

FARRADAY The face you describe is hardly that of a baronet’s wife!

MRS. MAPES Nor ever will be if—

MR. WESTERLEY WOMAN!

(MR. WESTERLEY’s sudden, savage outburst shocks no one but FARRADAY. MRS. MAPES backs away, her brash demeanor instantly vanishing.)

MRS. MAPES Begging your pardon, Uncle.

MR. WESTERLEY Go into the house.

MRS. MAPES As you like. Charmed to have met you, Master Farraday.

FARRADAY Likewise.

MR. WESTERLEY Boy. Escort Mrs. Mapes.

MARCUS Yes, sir.

(MARCUS exits with MRS. MAPES.)

MR. WESTERLEY See here, Farraday. You’ll do as I say and there’s an end.

FARRADAY Sir . . . her intended . . . will meet her hereafter. Face to face.

MR. WESTERLEY That is not your concern.

FARRADAY He may admire her as she actually is.

MR. WESTERLEY (with sudden anger) Just as I can open Boston’s doors to you, I can arrange that they forever shut you out!

(beat; placidly)

It would be silly to lose your livelihood over such trifles as a nose and a chin. Would it not?

FARRADAY My crime is merely appreciating your daughter, as Nature has stamped her. Surely a father must be gratified over and above his anger.

MR. WESTERLEY Then gratify me now.

(FARRADAY reluctantly picks up the charcoal and begins to sketch under MR. WESTERLEY’s direction, as lights fade.)

(Late morning the next day. FARRADAY and MARCUS work at the table, mixing pigments.)

MARCUS It’s like colored dirt.

FARRADAY Heap a small amount of the pigment on the tray. Like so. Add a few drops of black oil. So. Stir it into the powder with this knife. Mix it to the consistency of a paste.

MARCUS Yes, sir.

FARRADAY Only a few drops of oil at a time.

MARCUS Is this all right?

FARRADAY Gently. The object is not to create clouds.

MARCUS Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.

FARRADAY If you are free to leave this place, why don’t you? Mr. Westerley is an insufferable tyrant.

MARCUS My father holds us all lucky to live under his protection.

FARRADAY From what, pray?

MARCUS Why, the French. And the Indians. They might strike again at any time.

FARRADAY Mr. Westerley will fight them off single-handed, will he?

MARCUS His loyalty to the Crown. We’ll be protected here.

FARRADAY Those skirmishes happened deep in the wilderness.

MARCUS But a deal of our men went away north to fight. My father lost both his brothers at Fort William Henry.

FARRADAY I’m sorry. But those campaigns are long over. A treaty was signed two years ago, in Paris. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?

MARCUS Who signed it?

FARRADAY Why, the British, of course, and the French, and . . . some other kingdoms, I believe.

MARCUS Other kingdoms? Which ones?

FARRADAY (isn’t sure) You see? The powers that be only exploit this ignorance, this fear, to subdue the common man. Do you know what is brewing beyond these grounds? There are those that wish for change. And changes may come.

MARCUS My father says that row is between the haves and the haves. For the likes of us, there would be no change.

FARRADAY Oh, it’s hopeless.

MARCUS What’s wrong, sir?

FARRADAY I am being compelled to create a travesty. It will be sent away across the ocean and never seen more. I’ll gain by it some capital to support my future work. My true work. I’ll simply try to forget how I earned that capital. If you expect me to proceed joyfully, as you do, you must prepare for a disappointment.

MARCUS I guess I don’t expect anything.

(FARRADAY studies his sketches ruefully.)

FARRADAY After all, what does it signify? This is no portrait, but a still life. How can one animate the features of a stone?

(MISS PRESTON and MISS WESTERLEY enter.)

Oh, Miss Westerley, I only meant . . .

MISS WESTERLEY There is no need to explain. To a stone.

FARRADAY If you are a stone, you are alabaster.

MISS PRESTON Kindly restrain yourself, sir.

FARRADAY But it’s true. She has a superb complexion.

MISS PRESTON She is soon to be married.

FARRADAY It was not meant as an overture—

MISS PRESTON Mr. Westerley has ordained that today’s sitting be of a more “open character.” How did he put it? “More conducive to your creativity.”

FARRADAY He said that?

MISS PRESTON He did. We are at your disposal for any communication you deem necessary, within the bounds of propriety , over which I must remain the guardian. Every other wise, you, Master Farraday, reign supreme in this barn.

FARRADAY Well.

MISS PRESTON I deliberately canvassed his good opinion of your manner at yesterday’s sitting. It grieves me to know that my own demeanor did not merit the same acknowledgement.

FARRADAY I only told him—a more communicative subject—

MISS PRESTON The fault was surely mine.

FARRADAY Well . . . Kindly take your seat, Miss Westerley. I will sketch your headdress and begin the painting in earnest.

MISS WESTERLEY First, I will see your work.

FARRADAY Oh, but—

MISS PRESTON Your father wishes it to be a surprise.

FARRADAY Yes.

MISS WESTERLEY I will feign surprise.

MISS PRESTON Kindly take your seat, miss.

MISS WESTERLEY Mrs. Mapes was allowed to look.

MISS PRESTON Your father—

MISS WESTERLEY We need not tell him. He is not even at home.

FARRADAY Where is he?

MISS PRESTON He left late last night on business.

MISS PRESTON We don’t know. But that hardly matters. He has made his wishes known.

MISS WESTERLEY As I have mine.

(MISS WESTERLEY yanks up her skirt hems and steps off the clean carpet.)

MISS PRESTON You will soil your gown!

MISS WESTERLEY Then you had better help me.

(MISS PRESTON holds up the girl’s train as she approaches the easel. They gaze at the doctored sketch.)

Oh. Behold. Very sweet. Very sweet indeed. Who is she?

FARRADAY Why, you know that she is you. Yourself.

MISS WESTERLEY This is not what I see in the glass. Not nearly.

MISS PRESTON Come away and take your seat.

(MISS WESTERLEY sees the sketches on the table.)

MISS WESTERLEY What are those?

FARRADAY Nothing. Inferior studies. Marcus, take them away.

MISS WESTERLEY I will see them.

(MARCUS blocks them awkwardly.)

FARRADAY Cursory sketches—

MISS WESTERLEY Tell the boy to step away.

MISS PRESTON Miss Westerley—

MISS WESTERLEY They are nothing, he says. What is the harm?

MISS PRESTON Return to the carpet at once. The boy may bring them here.

(The women study the sketches.)

MISS WESTERLEY I choose this one.

FARRADAY The choice has . . . already been made.

MISS WESTERLEY My father will not remember which is which. It will make no difference to him.

FARRADAY It makes a difference to me.

MISS WESTERLEY Master Farraday, I beg you to conquer any feelings . . . any undue . . . admiration? Of my person.

FARRADAY I harbor no such feelings.

MISS PRESTON There is to be no talk of admiration and feelings.

MISS WESTERLEY In his chosen sketch, he has made me appear . . . cherubic. Tell him I am not cherubic.

FARRADAY Miss, I regard you with an exceedingly objective eye.

MISS WESTERLEY Perhaps you ought to use both .

FARRADAY Your father finds the resemblance “remarkable.”

MISS WESTERLEY Age has impaired his vision.

MISS PRESTON But not his prevision. He warned you that peeking would take the fun out of this. You are both behaving like unruly children. One of you at least should know better.

FARRADAY Forgive me. My passion for my work prevents me from receiving criticism in a manner befitting a professional.

MISS PRESTON Well spoken, sir. Miss Westerley, please take your seat.

MISS WESTERLEY I cannot forget what I’ve seen.

FARRADAY Subjects often don’t recognize themselves. Those close to you do know better.

MISS WESTERLEY Miss Preston spends more time in my company than anyone, and she agrees with me that I have an uncanny ability to appear interesting from any angle.

MISS PRESTON Most uncanny. But—

MISS WESTERLEY There is nothing interesting about the face you have chosen. It is a most commonplace and . . . obvious face.

FARRADAY Your father chose it.

MISS WESTERLEY You’re the expert. You ought to have advised him that these other sketches are . . . at least somewhat more accurate.

FARRADAY Somewhat?

MISS WESTERLEY Would you say more than somewhat?

MISS PRESTON Sit down and be still, miss.

MISS WESTERLEY But I have grave doubts about his sensibilities.

FARRADAY My sensibilities are developed to the highest degree.

MISS WESTERLEY Yet you fail to understand. I am going to be the wife of a baronet. Not the poppet of a small female child.

FARRADAY Nor am I the poppet of a large one!

MISS PRESTON Master Farraday! We have submitted to the open communication you sought. We cannot help it if you don’t like what you hear.

FARRADAY Once again, I beg your pardon.

MISS PRESTON If you repeat the offense, how sorry can you be?

MISS WESTERLEY Miss Preston, do you think it a good likeness?

MISS PRESTON These things take time.

MISS WESTERLEY You don’t like it, either.

MISS PRESTON I did not say that.

MISS WESTERLEY No. You wouldn’t. I’ll sit for you again, Master Farraday, on one condition. That you begin again under my direction.

FARRADAY I cannot do that.

MISS WESTERLEY Then I shall tell my father to dismiss you.

MISS PRESTON You will do no such thing!

FARRADAY Let her. Let him tell her himself . . .

MISS WESTERLEY What will he tell me?

MISS PRESTON Nothing, because you will not speak to him!

MISS WESTERLEY Won’t I?

MISS PRESTON If you complain, he will know you defied his orders and spoilt his surprise.

MISS WESTERLEY I’ll spare him the disappointment of making me a surprise that I don’t like.

MISS PRESTON Given time, you will grow to like it.

MISS WESTERLEY I’m tired to death of being told I must grow to like things. Just once, I want to like something without prompting.

MISS PRESTON Your conduct is both disrespectful and ungrateful. Your father commissioned this portrait for your benefit and pleasure.

MISS WESTERLEY Then he should have got Copley. Or Blackburn.

(MISS WESTERLEY stalks out. MISS PRESTON exits after her.)

FARRADAY To think I was ever eager to hear that voice. “I have an uncanny ability to appear interesting from any angle.” Any angle. Perhaps. But not every angle! The unbridled vanity!

MARCUS Don’t, sir.

FARRADAY To think, I defended her to her own father!

MARCUS That you did, and well.

FARRADAY And how does she thank me?

MARCUS Excuse me, but how could she know she ought to thank you?

FARRADAY She would only think any kindness her due.

MARCUS It’s not true.

FARRADAY You’ve grown up watching her. I, on the other hand, have a fresh perspective.

MARCUS I prefer my stale one.

FARRADAY You saw her yourself, devouring my compliments. All the while feigning maiden modesty, to draw out still more praise. Knowing I meant not a word, and yet feeling herself deserving of it all the same.

MARCUS It don’t seem right to say what you don’t mean, and then blame a body for believing you.

FARRADAY Marcus!

MARCUS Miss Westerley may be as vain as she likes, if it gives her comfort!

(MISS PRESTON enters. MARCUS jostles her as he runs out.)

MISS PRESTON Have a care, boy! FARRADAY He is upset.

MISS PRESTON As is Miss Westerley. She will surely complain of you.

FARRADAY Good. I’ll be well out of this—

MISS PRESTON You said, “Let him tell her himself.” What would he tell her?

FARRADAY Nothing. I misspoke.

MISS PRESTON May I speak frankly?

FARRADAY I hope so.

MISS PRESTON Miss Westerley has been promised to Sir James Taunton since she was a child. She was to marry him upon reaching her eighteenth year. Her mother insisted on that number. The girl is now only sixteen. Why should not Mr. Westerley honor his late wife’s wish, and wait?

FARRADAY I have no idea.

MISS PRESTON I understand there is to be a new tax on paper.

FARRADAY What has this to do—

MISS PRESTON It seems there’s great outcry beyond these walls?

FARRADAY No one likes any tax.

MISS PRESTON Mr. Westerley is known to support it. His advice has been sought in naming a man to oversee it. An enemy of the tax is his enemy. Perhaps he’s concerned for his daughter’s safety? FARRADAY On the contrary. He calls all men cowards.

MISS PRESTON He’s a fool if he thinks . . . So he has spoken of it. Does he hasten his daughter’s marriage to remove her from harm?

FARRADAY Cannot you ask him?

MISS PRESTON Master Farraday, we are of a level. Do confide in me, and I’ll secure the girl’s cooperation.

FARRADAY But I know nothing.

MISS PRESTON Impatient as he is to send her off, he requires your painting to precede her. And to misrepresent her.

FARRADAY Misrepresent! You’ve attacked my integrity. I must ask you to leave me.

MISS PRESTON Mr. Westerley could have engaged Copley. Why you?

FARRADAY Kindly go.

MISS PRESTON You’re an unknown from distant parts, who dares not challenge him. Who is in no position to carry tales from his household into polite society, where he is widely known and admired.

FARRADAY Was that your qualification as well?

MISS PRESTON Miss Westerley is unused to the headdress she must wear for the sake of your portrait. By day, it incommodes her to the highest degree. By night, she must sleep with her neck propped in a wooden yoke.

FARRADAY The price of fashion.

MISS PRESTON Her father grows ever more harsh and distant. The girl is kept in her room, out of the way. Friendless, who should be doted upon. Imprisoned, who should roam the grounds freely and without care. It breaks my very heart, sir, and would yours, if you had one.

FARRADAY I have seen and known true suffering. It tends to involve more than confinement to a splendid apartment.

MISS PRESTON I WANT HER AWAY FROM HERE, DO YOU UNDERSTAND!?

FARRADAY Then advise her that her father is . . . quite . . . specifically . . . pleased with the likeness as is .

MISS PRESTON As I suspected. He has guided your hand, and there can be only one reason. The engagement is in some doubt.

FARRADAY I haven’t said so!

MISS PRESTON No. Because you have no true sense of honor.

FARRADAY What honor have you? Living under the same roof with a brute who neglects his daughter and openly makes love to a “niece” who predates him by a decade if a day!

MISS PRESTON What cowardly shame. Returning a woman’s sincere confidence with irrelevant gossip.

(She turns to go. MARCUS rushes in.)

MARCUS Mr. Westerley is coming. He’s that upset.

MISS PRESTON He’s returned?

MARCUS Only just. He and the young miss had an awful row and they’re coming here!

MISS PRESTON Oh! And, here, we’ve been prattling away like a pair of biddy hens! Never mind. I’ll manage it.

FARRADAY I’ve done nothing to be reproached for.

(MR. WESTERLEY enters dragging MISS WESTERLEY by the arm.)

MISS WESTERLEY But at least tell me why! When I don’t like it!?

MR. WESTERLEY Because I like it, and there’s an end!

MISS PRESTON Sir?

MISS WESTERLEY Miss Preston—!

MR. WESTERLEY Girl, you sit there quiet, or I’ll do you a mischief.

(MR. WESTERLEY thrusts his daughter into the chair.)

MISS PRESTON Sir, whatever is the matter?

MR. WESTERLEY She greets me at the coach with grievances!

MISS PRESTON Let me speak with her alone. We’ll sort it all out.

MR. WESTERLEY I’ll sort it out for you. Get to work, Farraday. A packet sails for England tomorrow. The picture will go with it.

FARRADAY The sketch?

MR. WESTERLEY The painting.

FARRADAY That’s impossible.

MR. WESTERLEY Make it possible.

MISS PRESTON There is surely some misunderstanding. Pray, allow me to know the matter, and let us find a solution together.

MR. WESTERLEY I gave explicit orders that she was not to look—

MISS PRESTON A young painter will be anxious to display his handiwork—

FARRADAY What!?

MISS PRESTON In his enthusiasm, he could not resist seeking her approval.

FARRADAY That is not what happened!

MR. WESTERLEY What did happen, then?

FARRADAY Why, your daughter—

MISS PRESTON Perhaps the fault was in part my own. I failed to check Miss Westerley’s quite understandable curiosity. And, perceiving that curiosity, Master Farraday was spurred on—

FARRADAY I was not spurred on—

MR. WESTERLEY Are you saying my girl alone is to blame?

FARRADAY N . . . no . . . that is . . . curiosity would be understandable, as Miss Preston suggests, and . . . behaviors unchecked might . . .

MR. WESTERLEY What are you blubbering about? So it’s Miss Preston, then?

FARRADAY She is responsible for Miss Westerley’s conduct. Not I.

MR. WESTERLEY So you’ll blame the women both?

FARRADAY It is not a question of blame, sir . . .

MR. WESTERLEY I despise a man who will blame women for his shortcomings.

FARRADAY Not blame, exactly.

MR. WESTERLEY And worse, I despise a man afraid to take any stand whatever. My daughter wants you dismissed, and were things not so pressing, I believe I’d oblige her.

FARRADAY Then do so. I won’t overstay my welcome.

MR. WESTERLEY It’s too late for that.

MISS PRESTON Why? What things are pressing, sir?

MR. WESTERLEY Farraday, you’ll finish the painting, if it takes all night.

FARRADAY I cannot paint in the dark!

MR. WESTERLEY Boy, get as many lanterns as Smith can spare. Go!

(MARCUS hurries out.)

Girl, get in your position. Farraday. Paint.

MISS PRESTON Sir, I must protest!

FARRADAY This is not the work of one day, or one night. I must allow layers to dry.

MR. WESTERLEY Layers?

FARRADAY Translucency is key. It takes several layers, each of which must dry. It is a matter of weeks.

MR. WESTERLEY What? Weeks!? You did not say this before! There will be no layers.

FARRADAY I absolutely refuse to execute any work without the proper application of layers!

MR. WESTERLEY Are you daft?

FARRADAY I am, if I remain here, to have my abilities questioned, my integrity compromised, my process curtailed!

MR. WESTERLEY The devil take your high-flown language and lofty ideals.

FARRADAY And the devil take me with them. I am leaving.

MR. WESTERLEY Going back to Rhode Island, where I found you? Painting the likeness of a diseased Labrador. A mangy cur, taken in as a stray, like yourself, by a pair of unmarried atheists.

FARRADAY I am not my brother’s keeper.

MR. WESTERLEY No, they were keeping you! You are cast off from your family and decent society. You lived in the home of this common-law couple, and painted several portraits of people and domesticated animals in exchange for bed and board alone. You are in no position to complain of my terms.

FARRADAY I am a man.

MR. WESTERLEY One man! And a scrawny! At a word from me, your very life is forfeit. I need only name you an enemy of the Crown.

FARRADAY You could never support that allegation. MR. WESTERLEY Then I’ll charge you with stealing a bowl of Lucy’s cold porridge. My will is all that matters.

FARRADAY No one has the right to play fast and loose with a man’s reputation.

MR. WESTERLEY You’ll be arrested and hanged! How’s that for a reputation?

(He grabs FARRADAY by the neck, lifts him in the air, then sets him down again.)

FARRADAY Let it not be said that Edmund Farraday breaks his word. I will complete the portrait, as promised.

MR. WESTERLEY Naturally.

FARRADAY But . . . under protest, as to the process.

MR. WESTERLEY Noted. Begin.

FARRADAY I . . . do not require Miss Westerley to sit.

MR. WESTERLEY How’s that?

FARRADAY I have enough information from my sketch. I shall do not only as well but perhaps better on my own.

MR. WESTERLEY And the ship? Do you propose to copy it from memory?

FARRADAY If Miss Preston could kindly help her off with it and send it to me. I have a clear notion of how it should lie.

MR. WESTERLEY I’ll leave nothing to chance. Begin. Now.

(MR. WESTERLEY watches over FARRADAY’s shoulder.)

FARRADAY I . . . cannot paint under scrutiny, sir.

MR. WESTERLEY I’ll leave you to it, then. Miss Preston, come with me.

MISS PRESTON And leave your daughter here? It is not proper!

MR. WESTERLEY You’ll tell me what’s proper? Teaching her to lie to me.

MISS PRESTON What? I never.

MR. WESTERLEY I’ve made inquiries. You were at the Swan and Lion. Just as Farraday said.

MISS PRESTON I was at home. Your daughter did not lie.

MR. WESTERLEY You were seen by people who know you, though you tried to conceal yourself.

MISS PRESTON No!

MR. WESTERLEY Seen in close conversation with a reputed advocate of violent reform against the Crown.

MISS WESTERLEY Father, no! It was her brother!

MR. WESTERLEY Brother, eh?

MISS PRESTON Sir. No. That is . . .

MR. WESTERLEY Girl, you said she was home that night. You swore. To me, your father.

MISS PRESTON Sir—

MR. WESTERLEY So you’ve a brother, eh, Preston? No use denying it now.

MISS PRESTON Very well, but his life is destroyed by drink, and—

MR. WESTERLEY Come. Explain it to me indoors.

MISS PRESTON My place is here by my charge.

MR. WESTERLEY Perhaps I can assist your brother, now that I know of the matter. Come.

MISS PRESTON Consider your daughter, sir.

MR. WESTERLEY She lied to my face in front of the help.

MISS PRESTON I set her to it.

MR. WESTERLEY To protect your relation. She lied to her relation to protect the help .

MISS PRESTON Does that excuse your treating her less than honorably now?

MR. WESTERLEY When I was a boy, I respected my elders and did what I was told, or I got far worse than anything she’ll ever feel.

MISS PRESTON Loyalty cannot be bullied into being! It must be earned and freely offered.

MR. WESTERLEY Well spoke, Preston. I never suspected you of such depths. Come in, and explain your interesting theory.

MISS PRESTON Miss Westerley ought not have lied, I grant you. But, pray, don’t compound one wrong with another.

MR. WESTERLEY Any wrong I do that girl is for her good. Whether she likes it or no. Whether she knows it or no.

(MARCUS returns with lanterns.)

Boy, take up your post at this door. No one goes out. I’ll hold you responsible.

MARCUS Yes, sir.

MR. WESTERLEY Anyone goes out this door before that painting is complete, and I’ll . . . I’ll expel all your family from these premises.

FARRADAY Sir!

MR. WESTERLEY To work, Farraday! There is more at issue than a silly girl’s traipse down the hymeneal path!

(MISS PRESTON looks back once at her charge as MR. WESTERLEY escorts her out.

FARRADAY stands dumbfounded. From the door, MARCUS gazes sadly upon MISS WESTERLEY, who stares ahead at no one and no thing as lights fade. End of Act 1.)