The last scene I had to complete for episode one. This one took a long time to write, to gauge the content and forward thrust. I imagine it will need some editing, but I am glad to have it done at least in first draft for now.
SETTING: Estate at Loring’s End
(Sound of frantic knocking on a heavy door knocker.)
TOM: Hello? Anyone at home? Hello!
(Opening of the big door.)
MRS. WARREN: Excuse me, sir!
TOM: Mrs. Warren, is it?
MRS. WARREN: Yes. I remember you, you were that young man with Miss Alice yesterday.
TOM: That was me. My name is Tom Barrows.
MRS. WARREN: Well, what a racket you’re making! Is something the matter?
TOM: Apologies, ma’am, but I have to talk to Miss Alice. Is she in?
MRS. WARREN: Hold your horses a minute and I’ll see if she’s fit for callers. Come in and wait here in the lobby.
(Clicking of shoes on lobby floor. Before long footsteps come down the stairs.)
MRS. WARREN: Here he is, Miss Alice.
ALICE: Tom! What brings you back here so soon?
TOM: I’m sorry for barging in unannounced, but there’s something I’ve got to ask— Alice, did Miss Emma ever mention knowing a seamstress by the name of Abigail Barrows?
ALICE: Not that I ever heard. Who is she?
TOM: My mother, who taught me to sew. See, she left me journals with all of her embroidery methods in them, and they’re full of the designs she made. Look at this one, with the lilies!
ALICE: It’s lovely, but what about it?
TOM: You see, the dress your aunt asked me to make— I was supposed to make an exact copy of a gown in a picture she gave me. Take a look at it. Do you see the beadwork on the bodice?
ALICE: It’s the same design! What does that mean?
TOM: I think it means that my mother made this dress.
ALICE: My aunt asked you to make a copy of a dress your mother made? Did she realize?
TOM: She knew my name was Barrows, and I mentioned learning from my mother.
ALICE: My. Perhaps she thought you’d be the best person to recreate it.
TOM: Perhaps so.
ALICE: It’s a beautiful gown, Tom. Still… I wonder why she wanted it.
TOM: Yes. And why this one in particular? You know, she was adamant that what I made had to be identical. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now…
ALICE: I wonder what’s so special about this dress. May I see that picture again?
TOM: Here
ALICE: Hmmm. What is this? It looks like it’s from an old newspaper.
TOM: I think it is. The girl in it looks… rather like you, now that I think of it.
ALICE: Oh, my. She does look like me. And she looks… familiar too, somehow. Mrs. Warren? Do you recognize this girl?
MRS. WARREN: I certainly do. That was Miss Bethany.
ALICE: Oh, it is! This is my aunt, Tom, my father’s youngest sister. But where did this come from?
MRS. WARREN: I could never forget that gown she’s wearing. It’s from the night of her debutante ball.
TOM: Of course. That’s a gown for a special occasion. Tell me, does she live here still? Could I speak with her?
MRS. WARREN: Goodness, Mr. Barrows, don’t you know?
ALICE: Tom, Bethany’s been dead for years. She died that night.
TOM: At her ball?
MRS. WARREN: It was awful. She disappeared from her party at the end of the evening. Until they found her under the beech tree, with her head... oh, the poor dear girl.
TOM: My God. I’m so sorry. What happened to her?
ALICE: I really don’t know. It happened when I was just a baby. No one’s ever told me.
MRS. WARREN: No one really knows to tell you, miss. Even the police never figured it out.
ALICE: Well, Grandfather never liked anyone to talk about it.
MRS. WARREN: You must understand, it was a terrible time for the family, miss. First Miss Bethany… then Miss Constance taking ill and having to leave university. Miss Emma becoming so… withdrawn. And your father…
TOM: Your father?
ALICE: He went away to the Great War and never came back.
MRS. WARREN: All in just that year.
TOM: A hard year. I never knew.
ALICE: No one does.
MRS. WARREN: Oh, miss. It was also the year your grandfather was elected to the city council, and he built the theater in Master Reginald’s memory.
ALICE: That’s all that most people in this town remember. That’s certainly all Grandfather ever liked to talk about.
MRS. WARREN: The family was very happy for a very long time. I can’t say I blame Mr. Loring for wanting to think about that, rather than dwell on all that sadness.
ALICE: I suppose.
CONSTANCE: (From just outside the room) Mrs. Warren?
MRS. WARREN: Right here, Mrs. Danbury.
CONSTANCE: I’ll take my tea in the sun room now.
MRS. WARREN: Are you quite sure you wouldn’t like something to eat? You’ve had nothing since—
CONSTANCE: Just the tea, Mrs. Warren.
ALICE: Good morning, Aunt Constance. How are you feeling?
CONSTANCE: I can’t abide these police officers haunting the place.
ALICE: I know, Auntie, I’m sorry.
CONSTANCE: Can’t get a moment’s peace with them poking around everywhere. God knows what damage they’ve done already. Please, Alice, tell that gardener to keep them out of the flowerbeds.
ALICE: Gardener? Oh, please, Aunt Constance. This is Mr. Tom Barrows, the tailor Aunt Emma spoke to.
CONSTANCE: I don’t know any tailor.
ALICE: I know, I don’t think Aunt Emma told many people. I was wondering— about the funeral—
CONSTANCE: Oh, heavens, not now.
ALICE: I know it’s terrible, but—
CONSTANCE: Please, dear… don’t make me speak of it.
(Sound of CONSTANCE walking off.)
ALICE: (sighing) Forgive her, Tom.
MRS. WARREN: You mustn’t think too harshly of Mrs. Danbury. She… hasn’t been well for some time.
TOM: I understand. Think nothing of it.
MRS. WARREN: Especially the way things are now, there are just some things the poor thing can’t bear.
ALICE: The laudanum sees to that.
MRS. WARREN: Oh, Miss Alice. Well. I suppose I’d best be getting that tea made. Good to make your acquaintance, Mr. Barrows.
TOM: You as well, Mrs. Warren.
(Pause.)
ALICE: (Sighs with a sob in it.)
TOM: Alice, are you all right?
ALICE: Oh, Tom… why did my aunt want you to copy this dress?
TOM: I don’t know, miss.
ALICE: I don’t either. I don’t know why she did anything.
(Pause.)
ALICE: The police are thinking she… did it to herself.
TOM: You mean… Oh, God.
ALICE: With laudanum. She had headaches, she might have had a bad headache, and took too much. Wouldn’t surprise me, the whole family does. Or she might have done it on purpose. She might have meant to take her life.
(Pause.)
ALICE: I don’t think I knew her at all.
TOM: I… I’m sure that’s not so.
ALICE: It is! Not Aunt Emma, not Constance, not my grandfather or even my own father. They never tell me what they’re thinking. If any of my family knew I’d told you that Emma might have… We don’t talk in this house. Nobody talks.
TOM: I’m so sorry.
ALICE: I feel like I don’t know a damn thing about my own family.
(Pause.)
TOM: Then… perhaps we should find out.
ALICE: What?
TOM: We’ll do our own investigating.
ALICE: You and I?
TOM: Yes. Why not? There’s so much going on here that we can’t see, but it’s working on us on all the same. I think we should find out about it.
ALICE: Oh, Tom. I’m sure you have enough to keep you busy without taking on my troubles too.
TOM: It isn’t that, Alice. You want to know about you family— well, my mother was tangled up in this somehow too. This dress is her work, before she lost her sight. You don’t know she hurt when she couldn’t do that work anymore, and what I have left of her is that she taught me to do. There’s a piece of what she was in this, and I’d like to get that piece back.
ALICE: Where would we even start?
TOM: I don’t know. But it can’t hurt to try, can it? Otherwise, you might never know.
(Pause.)
ALICE: All right. All right.
TOM: I’m sure you have enough to worry about tonight, but we’ll meet soon and talk. Figure out what we’re about on this.
ALICE: That sounds fine, Tom.
TOM: Good. I’ll be seeing you soon then. Don’t fret, Alice. We’ll see this through.
ALICE: Yes. Yes, we will. Thank you, Tom.
TOM: Glad to be of service.
(They walk to the door. ALICE opens it and lets TOM out.)
TOM: Until then, miss.
(She closes the door behind him, then takes slow steps back in.)
ALICE: (Sighs) … “The family was very happy for a very long time.”
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